<*H1BRAI
£ £>
AND
THOSE WHO MADE THEM
THREE HUNDRED STANDARD 80NQB OF THE ENGLISH-
SPEAKING RACE, ARRANGED WITH PIANO ACCOMPANIMENT,
AND PRECEDED BY SKETCHES OF THE WRITERS
AND HISTORIES OF THE SONGS
BY
HELEN KENDR1CK JOHNSON
Sweet are familiar songs, though Music dips
Her hottvut shell in Thought's forlornest wells
NEW YORK
.HEKI-IV HOLT AND COMPANY
1889
Copyright, 1881,
By HENRY HOLT & CO.
Library
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS,
THEY need no introduction ; they come with the latch-string assurance of
old and valued friends, whose separate welcomes have encouraged them to drop
in all together. They are not popular songs merely, nor old songs exclusively,
but well-known songs, of various times, on almost every theme of human inter-
est. They are the songs we have all sung, or wished we could sing ; the songs
our mothers crooned over our cradles, and our fathers hummed at their daily
toil ; the songs our sisters sang when they were the prima donnas of our
juvenile world ; the songs of our sweethearts and our boon companions ; the
songs that have swayed popular opinion, inspirited armies, sustained revolu-
tions, honored the king, made presidents, and marked historical epochs.
Very great songs — great in all respects — are comparatively few. Perhaps
a continued and warmly-expressed interest in the makers of familiar songs—
equivalent to that which other artists enjoy — would render those who are will-
ing to make the songs of a nation quite as numerous as those who are anxious
to make its laws. The revival of degenerate song begun by Burns was a new
inspiration ; and although several Scottish ladies, immediately following him,
kept themselves sedulously hidden from public view, while they produced some
of the finest songs ever written, a deep personal interest became manifest toward
the writers of lyric verse in Scotland. The result is, that no other people pos-
sesses such an array of poets whose rhyme can be echoed in written melody, and
there is more popular knowledge of Scotland' s song- writers than of those of any
other nation. In England little interest has been manifested in this portion of
the tuneful guild, and still less has our own country troubled itself about it,1?
singing men and singing women.
John Howard Payne's magnificent monument only testifies to consideration
that came too late. But for him, and for others even more deserving, ostenta-
tious and costly monumental remembrance is not to be desired. Something
with more of human sympathy in its expression should take its place.
"Gi'e pillar'd fame to common men ;
Nae need o' cairns for aue like thee,"
says Lady Nairne, whose songs are her own most fitting memorial. " Old Dog
Tray" is as much a reality to us all as if we had never sung the song without his
wagging tail to beat the time. Yet Stephen C. Foster, who drew that picture
3GS2455
vi 01 II FAMILIAR
nt dumb devotion to man in his loneliness. \vas himself the saddest realization
of the plaintive fane}7. Epes Sargent was long a successful author and
editor ; but thousands who never heard of him as either, know that somebody
wrote " A Life on the Ocean Wave," with which they cheer their inland homes.
Caroline Gilman is associated with h3r books for the young, but hardly with
her " Trancadillo" chorus, which is sung by boating parties when all books are
forgotten. Bulwer is known by his stately novels, but not by his song, " When
Stars are in the Quiet Skies," though no moonlight ride is complete without it.
It is perhaps hardly necessary to say, in regard to the biographical sketches,
that it has been my purpose to make them full in the case of authors little
known, but not to cumber the book with the familiar details of the lives of more
famous men. It is assumed that the ordinary reader knows, or can readily
turn to, the history of authors like Ben Jonson, Lord Byron, Longfellow, and
Tennyson, while he would be glad to find, in this connection, information about
such as Tannahill, Bayly, Dempster. Ainslie, and Foster.
I take pleasure in expressing my indebtedness to Professor EDWARD S. Cr M-
MIITOS, of New York, for the skill and care with which he has edited the music in
this volume. My thanks are also cordially returned for courtesies received from
publishers who hold the copyright of songs included here : Messrs. Oliver Dit
son & Co. , Boston ; William A. Pond & Co. , New York ; G. Schirmer, New
York ; Louis Meyer, Philadelphia ; and S. Brainerd's Sons, Cleveland ; as well
as to the authors and composers. For much of the information which here
appears in print for the first time, I am indebted to the personal kindness of
friends and relatives of the authors, retired music-publishers, and others, both
here and in England, in whose memories alone were to be found any records of
some of the writers of immortal songs. I regret that to all these I can only
make this general acknowledgment.
H, K. J.
NEW YORK, January 4, 1881.
CONTENTS,
SONGS OF REMINISCENCE.
AUTHOR. COMPOSEK. PAOK
THE LONG AGO Bayly Bayly. 3
OLD DOG TRAY Foster Foster 4
AULD LANG SYNE Burns Thomson 7
BI:N BOLT English Kneass 9
I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER Hood BlocUey 12
I REMEMBER Praed Fitzgerald 14
OH, WOULD I WERE A BOY AGAIN ! Lemon Homer Ifi
THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET Woodworth Kiallmark 18
THE OLD ARM-CHAIR Cook Russell 20
WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE Morris Russell 25
WE HAVE LIVED AM> LOVED TOGETHER JefferyS NlCOlo 29
WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER Norton RuSSell 30
OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT MoOTC MoOT6 32
THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS Sunn Balfe 34
BREAK, BREAK, BREAK Tennyson Dempster 37
SONGS OF HOME.
HOME, SWEET HOME Payne Old air 41
THE INGLE SIDE ., Ainslie Wiesenthal 44
MY AIN FIRESIDE Hamilton Old air 46
CASTLES IN THE AIR Ballantine Anonymous 47
WIFE, CHILDKKN, AND FRIENDS Spencer Old air 50
THE WOODPECKER Moore Kelly 52
RAIN ON THE ROOF Kinney Clark 50
THE BOATIE Rows Ewen Ewen 59
O SWIFTLY GLIDES THE BONNIE BOAT ! . Baillie Old air 60
MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME Foster Foster 64
TAK' YER AULD CLOAK ABOUT YE Anonymous Old air 66
Do THEY MISS ME AT HOME? Anonymous Orannis 68
OLD FOLKS AT HOME ... Foster Foster 69
ROCK ME TO SLEEP Allen Mueller 71
THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD Remans Old air 74
SONGS OF EXILE.
BAY OF DUBLIN Dufferin Old air 79
THE OAK AND THE ASH Anonymous Old air 80
LOCHABER NO MORE Ramsay Reilly 82
THE LAMENT OF TUB IRISH EMIGRANT Dufferin Dempster. 85
ERIN is MY HOME Bayly German air 88
PAT MALLOY Boucicault Irish air 89
THE EXILE OF ERIN. . . Campbett Irish air 91
ISLE OF BEAUTY, FARE THEE WELL ! Bayly Rawlings 9.>
viii CONTENTS.
AUTHOR. COMPOSER. PAGE
MY HEART 's IN THE HIGHLANDS Bum* Old air .... 97
I'M SADDEST WHEN I SING Bayly Bishop 98
IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE Ileber Nelson 99
THE CARRIER DOVE Anonymous Johnson 100
O, TAKE ME BACK TO SWITZERLAND Norton Norton J 02
THE PILGRIM FATHERS Hemans Browne 103
CHEER, BOYS, CHEER Mackay Russell 105
SONGS OF THE SEA.
THE SEA Procter Neukomm, 109
BARNEY Bi NTLINE Pitt Old air 1 14
THE WHITE SQUALL Johns Barker 115
THE STORM Stevens Old air 120
THE MINUTE GUN AT SEA Sharpe King 1 22
BLACK-EYED SUSAN Gay Leveridge 125
'TwAS WHEN THE SEAS WERE ROARING Gay Handel 128
A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE Sargent Russell 130
A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA Cunningham Old air 13?
THE STORMY PETREL Procter Neukomm 139
ROCKAWAY Sharpe Russell 141
WHAT ARE THE WILD WAVES SAYING ? Carpenter Glover 146
TRANCADILLO Oilman Brmrn. 151
WAPPING OLD STAIRS Percy English air 153
THE JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAN Dibdin Dibdin ] 57
JAMIE'S ON THE STORMY SEA Anonymous Covert 15D-
THE LASS THAT LOVES A SAILOR Dibdin Dibdin 160
POOR TOM Dfl)din Dihdin 162
TOM BOWLING Dibdin Dibdin 163
THE ARETHUSA Hoare Carolan 167
CAPTAIN KIDD Anonymous Old air 171
THE HEAVING OF THE LEAD ~Pearce Shield 173
THE BAY OF BISCAY Cherry Davy 175
POOR JACK Dibdin. Dibdin , 178
THREE FISHERS Kingsley Hullah 181
ARE THERE TIDINGS ? Bayly Bishop 1 84
TOE SANDS o' DEE Kingsley Boott 187
THE PILOT Bayly Nelson 190
TREASURES OF THE DEEP flemans Arkicright 191
ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP Willard Knight 194
SONGS OF NATURE.
THE BROOK Tennyson Anonymous 199
SOME LOVE TO ROAM Mackay Russell 202
CANADIAN BOAT SONG. . Moore Old air 204
BRING FLOWERS Remans English air 206
A SOUTHERLY WIND AND A CLOUDY SKY Anonymous Old air 208
THE BRAVE OLD OAK Chorley ... .Loder 209
THE IVY GREEN Dickens Russell .210
TYROLESE EVENING HYMN Hemans Arkwright 215
SONGS OF SENTIMENT.
THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER Moore Old air .219
I'D BE A BUTTERFLY Bayly Bayly 22 1
TIIOSK EVENING BELLS Moore Old air. . 223
CONTENTS. 'x-
AUTHOR. COMFOSBB. PAGE
LET ERIN REMEMBER Moore Old air 224
DATS OF ABSENCE Rousseau Rousseau 226
ERIN, THE TEAK Moore Old air 227
0, SAY NOT THAT MY HEART is COLD Wolfe ; Old air 228
TWILIGHT DEWS Moore Moore 229
STARS OF THE SUMMER NIGHT Longfellow.' Pease. 230
MY LIFE is LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE Wilde Thibault 235
LOVE NOT Norton Blockley .-. . . 236
COME, PLAY ME THAT SIMPLE AIR Moore Labitzky 237
LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM Moore Old air 238
WHEN THE NIGHT-WIND BEWAILETH Sargent Dempster ......... 240
EILEEN AROON Griffin Old air 241
•Go, FORGET ME ! Wolfe Mosart 243
THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK Lover Lover .... 244
THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL McNally Hook 246
THE LASS o' GOWRIE. . Reid Scotch air 248
HAD I A HEART FOR FALSEHOOD FRAMED Sheridan. . . Irish air 249
THE YOUNG MAY MOON. Moore Irish air 250
LOVE'S KITORNELLA Planche Cooke 251
DOWN THE BURN Crawford Maigh 253
WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME .Hogg Scotch air 255
WHEN STARS ARE IN THE QUIET SKIES Bulwer. Anonymous 258
KITTY NEIL Waller. Irish air 259
PLY NOT YET Moore Irish air 260
'Too LATE I STAYED Spencer Irish air 262
^Tis MIDNIGHT HOUR Anonymous Anonymous 263
ROSLIN CASTLE Hewit Scotch air 264
•COUNTY GUY Scott Mozart 266
THE MEETING OF THE WATERS Moore Irish air 267
FOR THE SAKE o' SOMEBODY Burns Scotch air 268
MAID OF ATHENS Byron Nathan 269
0 NANNIE, WILT THOU GANG wi' ME ? Percy Carter 272
NEAR THE LAKE Morris Horn 274
BLUE-EYED MARY Anonymous German air 275
THE ROSE THAT ALL ARE PRAISING Bayly Loder 276
'TWERE VAIN TO TELL THEE ALL I FEEL Wade Swiss air 277
THE CARRIER PIGEON Percival Moron 278
THE BLUE JUNIATA Sullivan Sullivan 279
WHAT WILL YOU DO, LOVE ? Lover Lover 280
SHE WORE A WREATH OF ROSES Bayly Knight 281
I'LL HANG MY HARP ON A WILLOW TREE Anonymous Guernsey 284
THE INDIAN'S DEATH-SONG Hunter Anonymous 285
0 BOYS, CARRY ME 'LONG Foster Foster 286
MASSA'S IN DE COLD, COLD GROUND Foster Foster 287
SONGS OF HOPELESS LOVE.
AULD ROBIN GRAY Barnard Leeves 291
'TiS SAID THAT ABSENCE CONQUERS LOVE ThomOS ThomOS 296
MARION MOORE Clark Clark 297
THE MISTLETOE BOUGH Bayly Bayly 299
ALLAN WATER Lewis Horn 300
MARY OF THE WILD MOOR Turner Turner 303
WHAT AILS THIS HEART o' MINE ? Blamire Old air 304
WHEN OTHER FRIENDS ARE ROUND THEE Morris Anonymous 305
x CONTENTS.
AUTHOR. COMPOSER. PAGE
ARABT'S DAUGHTER * Moore Kiullmark 307
M ARY'S DREAM Lowe Old air 809-
CONN EL, AND FLORA Wilson Old air... 311
TRUE LOVE CAN NE'ER FORGET Lover Lover 3.1 3-
.1 E ANIE MORRISON Motherwell Dempster k 814
AE FOND KISS : Burns Old air. 81?
THERE'S NAE ROOM FOR TWA Danby. . Satter 318-
THE WAEFU' HEART Blamire Old air 320
HERE'S A HEALTH TO ANE I LO'E DEAR Burns Old air 321
AFTON WATER • Burns Spilman 322
THE BRAES o' GLENIFFER Tannahill Old air 324
THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR Crawford Old air 326
BARBARA ALLAN Unknown Old air 32?
SAVOURNEEN DEELISH Colman Old air 330
LORI> ULLIN'S DAUGHTER Campbell Thomson 331
KATHLEEN MAVOURNEEN Crawford Crouch 333
JEANNETTE AND JEANNOT Jefferys Glover 338
THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA Lockhart Arkwright 34o
BONNIE DOON Burns Old air 34£
BOUNDING BILLOWS, CEASE YOUR MOTION Robinson Old air 345
ROLL ON, SILVER MOON Turner Turner 347
WE MET, 'TWAS IN A CROWD Bayly Bayly 349
AND YE SHALL WALK IN SILK ATTIRE Blamire Old air. 351
THOU HAST WOUNDED THE SPIRIT THAT LOVED THEE. .Porter Porter 352
OH, NO, WE NEVER MENTION HER Bayly French air 354
ROBIN ADAIR Keppel Old air 355
SHE is FAR FROM THE LAND Moore Old air 357
HIGHLAND MARY Burns. Scotch air 359
SONGS OF HAPPY LOVE.
THE BROOKSIDE Mttnes Sine 363
ANNIE LAURIE Douglas Scott 364
THE WELCOME Davis Irish air 360
WANDERING WILLIE Burns Old air 368
SALLY IN OUR ALLEY Carey Old air 869
JOCK o' HAZELDEAN Scott Old air 371
JESSIE, THE FLOWER o' DUMBLANE Tannahill Smith 372
MEET ME BY MOONLIGHT Wade Wade ... 374
SAW YE MY WEE THING ? Macneitt. Old air 376
THE ROSE OF ALLANDALE Jefferys Nelson 379
KIND ROBIN LO'ES ME Unknown Old air 380
I LO'ED NE'ER A LADDIE BUT ANE Macneill Old air. 381
MARY OF ARGYLE Jefferys Nelson 382
THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY Burns Old air 384
THE LASS o' PATIE'S MILL Ramsay Old air 386
THE LEA RIG Burns Old air . 886
THE BRAES o' BALQUHIDDER Tannahill Smith 387
OH, TAKE HER, BUT BE FAITHFUL STILL Jefferys Nelson 389
MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING Burns Old air. 390
THE ANGEL'S WHISPER Lover Old air 392
WE'RE A' NODDIN Unknown Old air 39:>
NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE , Adam Old air 394
TOUCH us GENTLY, TIME Procter English air 398
JOHN ANDERSON, MY jo Burns Old air. . 39'J
CONTENTS. xi
SONGS OF PLEASANTRY.
AUTHOR. COMPOSER. PAGE
OOMIN' THROUGH THE RYE Unknown Old air 403
THE LOW-BACKED CAR Lover Lover 404
GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O Burns Old air 406
MOLLY CAREW Lover Old air 407
WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBORO' D1 Urfey Hooke 410
WIDOW MACHREE Lover Lover 412
DUNCAN GRAY Burns Old air 4U5
RORY O'MoRE. .' Lover Lover 415
THE LAIRD o' COCKPEN Nairne Old air 417
KATE KEARNEY Morgan Old air 418
O WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD Bums. BrUCC 420
ROY'S WIFE OF ALDIVALLOCH Grant Goto 421
LOVELY MARY DONNELLY Allingham Barker 423
COME, HASTE TO THE WEDDING Unknown Arne 426
WEEL MAY THE KEEL ROW Unknown Old air 428
WAIT FOR THE WAGON Unknown Buckley 429
THE GROVES OF BLARNEY Millikin Unknown 431
A FROG HE WOULD A WOOING GO , White Scotch air 434
THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN Hewer Old air 435
OLD KING COLE . . . . : Unknown. . . Old air 439
SAINT PATRICK WAS A GENTLEMAN Bennett and Toleken . Irish air 441
THE ROAST BEEF OF OLD ENGLAND Leveridge Leveridge 442
BUY A BROOM Unknown German air 444
ROBINSON CRUSOE Cussam Unknown 444
THE BOWLD SOJER BOY Lover Irish air 446
THE CORK LEG Blewitt Blewitt 447
CONVIVIAL SONGS.
SPARKLING AND BRIGHT Hoffman Taylor 451
SMOKING AWAY Finch Taylor 453
BEGONE ! DULL CARE Unknown Old air 454
COME, LANDLORD, FILL THE FLOWING BOWL Fletcher Old air . . .- 455
How STANDS THE GLASS AROUND ? Unknown Unknown 456
FILL THE BUMPER FAIR Moore Old air 457
ONE BUMPER AT PARTING Moore Old air 459
DRINK TO ME ONLY WITH THINE EYES Jonsvn Mozart 460
FAREWELL ! BUT WHENEVER Moore Old air 461
THE MEETING Moore Moore 463
REASONS FOR DRINKING Morris Dibdin 464
OH, THINK NOT MY SPIRITS Moore Old air 467
THE YEAR THAT'S AW A' Dunlop Old air 469
POLITICAL SONGS.
TIPPECANOE AND TYLER TOO Ross Old air 473
JOHN BROWN'S BODY Hall Unknown 476
MARYLAND, MY MARYLAND Randall German air 478
WAKE NICODEMUS Work Work 480
WHA'LL BE KING BUT CHARLIE ? Nairne Old air 484
CHARLIE is MY DARLING Nairne Old air 486
WHAT'S A' THE STEER, KIMMER ? Unknown Unknown 488
WEARING OF THE GREEN Boucicault Old air 488
YES, THE DIE is CAST Pestel Pestel 491
TULLOCHGORUM. . ..Skinner.. .. Old air . ... 492
xii CONTENTS.
MARTIAL AND PATRIOTIC SONGS.
AUTHOR. COMPOSM. PAGE
BONNIE DUNDEE Scott Old air 49?
HAIL TO THE CHIEF ! Scott Bishop 499
THE BLUE BELLS OF SCOTLAND Grant Jordan 501
THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME Unknown Old air 508
THE SOLDIER'S TEAR Bayly Lee 504
THE DASHING WHITE SERGEANT Unknown Bishop 605
THE GALLANT TROUBADOUR Unknown French air 508
DUNOIS THE BRAVE Queen Hortense Queen Hortense 509
THE MARCH OF THE CAMERON MEN Campbell Old air 510
1 SEE THEM ON THEIR WINDING WAY Heber Old air 512
THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMIN' Unknown Old air 513
To GREECE WE GIVE OUR SHINING BLADES Moore Bishop 515
SCOTS, WHA HAE wi' WALLACE BLED Burns Old air 516
BLUE BONNETS OVER THE BORDER Scott Old air 518
THE SOLDIER'S RETURN Burns Old air 515>
GAILY THE TROUBADOUR Bayly Bayly 521
THE MINSTREL'S RETURN Scott Old air 522
THE MINSTREL BOY Moore Old air 523
TENTING ON THE OLD CAMP GROUND — Kittredge Kittredge 524
TUB SOLDIER'S DREAM. Campbell Attwood 527
THE CAPTIVE KNIGHT Hemans Arkwright 533
THE BATTLE PRAYER Kfirner Himmel 535
BINOEN ON THE RHINE Norton Hutchinson 537
THE HEATH THIS NIGHT Scott Masasinghi 541
THE WOUNDED HUSSAR Campbell Hewitt 543
THE DEATH OF WARREN Sargent Dempster 544
THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL Wallace Covert 552
THE DEATH OF NELSON .Arnold Braham 553
THE GRAVE OF BONAPARTE Washburn Heath 558
THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE Wolfe Barnett 560
ALL QUIET ALONG THE POTOMAC Beers Dayton 56:?
AFTER THE BATTLE Moore Old air 565
WHFLE HISTORY'S MUSE Moore Old air 567
THE HARP THAT ONCE THRO' TABA's HALLS Moore Old air 568
FLOWERS OF THE FOREST Elliot Old air 569
THE TIGHT LITTLE ISLAND Dibdin Reeve 571
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND Campbell Callcott 573
BATTLE OF THE BALTIC Campbell Purday 574
RULE, BRITANNIA ! Mallet Arne 576
GOD SAVE THE KING Unknown Bull 578
DIXIE , .( . . . Pike Unknown 580
YANKEE DOODLE Unknown Unknown 583
HAIL, COLUMBIA ! .Hopkinson Phyla 586
ADAMS AND LIBERTY Paine Arnold 589
THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER Key Arnold 592
MY COUNTRY, 'TIS OF THEE Smith Unknown 595
MORAL AND RELIGIOUS SONGS.
THE SPIDER AND THE FLY Howitt Old air 599
THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST , Cockburn Unknown 601
A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT Burns Scotch air. 603
THERE'S A GOOD TIME COMING Mackay English air 604
CALLER HERRIN' . . .Xairne . . . . Gow . . HOG
CONTENTS. xiii
AUTHOB. COMPOSER. PAOB
THE ARROW AND THK SONG Longj'ellow Balfe 6Ul>
THE CARRIER BIRD Moore Bruce 613
THE BEGGAR GIRL Anonymous Piercy 014
Too LATE Tennyson Lindsay 015
EVENING SONG TO THE VIRGIN Hemans Old air 619
THE RAINY DAY , Longfellow. . . Dempster 620
MY MOTHER'S BIBLE Morris Russell 622
THE INQUIRY Mackay Oorrin 624
THE BETTER LAND . . Hemans Arkwright 628
THERE'S NOTHING TRUE BUT HEAVEN Moore Shaw 629
THE PAUPER'S DRIVE Noel HutcMnson 630
THE OLD SEXTON Benjamin Russell 632
GERMAN WATCHMAN'S SONG Anonymous Heffeman 636
ALL'S WELL ! Dibdin Braham 637
As DOWN IN THE SUNLESS RETREATS Moore Shaw 639
WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET AGAIN ? Unknown Doubtful 642
THE MESSENGER BIRD Hemans Arkwright 644
THE LAND o' THE LEAL Naime Old air 648
GOOD NIGHT, AND JOY BE wi' YE A' ! Boswell Old air. 649
INDEX.. .- . 6M*
SONGS OF REMINISCENCE.
Sing to your sons those melodies,
The songs your fathers loved.
— Felicia Reman*.
When time has passed, and seasons fled,
Your hearts will feel like mine,
And aye the song will maist delight
That minds ye o' lang syne.
— Susanna Blamire.
The portal soon was opened, for in the land of Song
The minstrel at the outer gate yet never lingered long,
jLnd inner doors were seldom closed 'gainst wand'rers such as be "
For locks or hearts to open soon, sweet Music is the key.
— Samuel Lovtr*
Sing again the song you sung
When we were together young,
When there were but you and I
Underneath the summer sky.
Sing the song, and o'er and o'er,
Though I know that never more
Will it seem the song you sung
When we were together young.
— George Wittiam Curtit.
SONGS OF REMINISCENCE,
THE LONG AGO.
THE author of "The Long Ago" was a dramatist, novelist, and poet, but was
preeminently successful as a writer and composer of sweet and singable songs. His verse
is tuneful and tender, his airs musical and delicate, and both are pervaded by a spirit
of purity.
THOMAS HATNES BAYLY was born at Bath, England, on the 13th of October, 1797, and
was the only child of wealthy parents. At the age of seven he delighted an admiring circle
of titled relations by writing rhymes, which were unusually good. As a schoolboy the
young poet was a comparative failure, if judged by the debits and credits of the teacher's
record; he loved only to dramatize his history lessons and rhyme the rules of his arithmetic.
At seventeen, he resisted his father's attempt to make him a lawyer, and after several
years of home life, during which he produced literary work that gained popular favor to
some extent, he went to Oxford to study for the church. But the theological student
proved as wayward as the schoolboy, and the deeper romance of love took the place of his
early rhymings. Mr. Bayly married a wealthy and gifted lady, and for six years they
lived in a charming country house, when their little boy was taken from them, and
they were overwhelmed by financial ruin. The poet's health was shattered by these dis-
asters ; and when the exercise of his pen, which had been a pastime, became a necessity,
it would not move with its accustomed freedom. They had two daughters, and the con-
stant fear that he should lose entirely the power to compose the little songs of love and
pathos and social life, which now furnished their support, so wrought upon him that the
worst was realized. He was attacked by brain fever, from which he rallied only to sink
beneath another painful disease. The beauty of his soul shone forth amid the sufferings of
mind and body, and the loving spirit of one of England's sweetest song- writers rested in
peace and joy when he was but forty-two years of age, April 22, 1839.
Mr. Bayly's poems were first collected in this country, and edited by Rufus W. Gris-
wold (Philadelphia, 1843). The edition was incomplete, but it was a long time before his
own country possessed one as good. Many of the songs were written originally for pub-
lishers or composers who held the copyright. Mrs. Bayly finally published her husband's
poems, with a biography, in two volumes.
P-i —
-\ 1 — v-
-\ P» 1^-
[K
-H —
-\
-£ — ^ — V-r
— I N— f
H PI R-
d ri — jr5-
j -j. f
r — r: y
3r
\
i j J
~l — i~~3
' J :l
^ :
0 *-; — 0 —
• — 0- ^
& —
* — » — g—
-* 9 — %
— j& — j-f
.. f Tell me the tales that to me were so dear, Long, 1<
{ Sing me the songs I de - light - ed to hear, ( Omit.)
D. C. Let me be-lieve that vou love as you loved, ( Omit.)
2 f Do you re-mem -her, the path where we met, Long, 1<
{ Ah, yes, you told me you ne'er would for -get, (Omit.)
D. C. Still my heart treasures the prais - es I heard, (Omit.)
, fTho' by your kind-ness my fond hopes were rais'd, Long, Ic
( You, by more el - o- quent lips have been praised, ( Omi
B.C. Blest, as I was when I sat by your side, (Omit.)
&^ f ' fe " £-^ ? T: 1 #—±-
>ng, a - go, Long, long a - go.
>ng, a - go, Long, long a - go.
ng, a - go, Long, long a - go.
• j
T" "T" "T"
=*=s\
1 '+- — V —
V- ^ —
• ix — ^^
^-^
E-C-C-L
_? — p — P-
-l — -A
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
Pine.
D.C.
% — i — 3~
~J — J' T
1: | j ^ j — 1 : — —
rr^-
35 —
^^TH
s*-
t~ — b
-*- —
*
*-
—
r r
9 0 — * —
t—
2_^JJ
f Now vou are come, all my
grief is re-moved,
Long, long a •
go, Long
a
• go, ( Let me for - get that so
long you have roved,
Long, long a -
go, Long
a
- go.
%
f Then to all oth - ers, my
smile you pre-ferred,
Long, long a -
go, Long
a •
go, { Love when you spoke gave a charm to each word.
Long, long a -
go, Long
a
• go.
Long, long a -
go, Long
a
f But by long ab - sence your
• go, ( Still to your ac - cents I
truth has been tried,
lis - ten with pride.
Long, long a -
go, Long
a
> go.
i^
~f~ +~ *~
-f- -
p- •
*-
^
"• f" f" J^^
« « -
•^
a*}*$
— ^ — H-
II PI
L —
' 1
(2 !_||
L^
9 9 9 —
-9
*— M
t==te
* r r r= r r \
r==f=
c=
— 4i
There is another familiar set of words which seems to be altered from Mr. Bayly's, and
Is sung to the same air.
Tell me the tale of the friends you have loved,
Long, long ago, long ago,
Tell me of those by whose side you have roved,
Long, long ago, long ago.
Say were your playmates as blithe and as gay,
Joyous as those I have been with to-day ?
Who were the children you met in your play,
Long, long ago, long ago?
What were the pleasures you gathered at home,
Long, long ago, long ago?
Where were the meadows enticed you to roam
Long, long ago, long ago?
Mother, sweet mother, why starteth that tear?
Tell me the tale you delighted to hear
Told by the friends that to you were so dear,
Long, long ago, long ago.
OLD DOG TRAY.
WHO is not familiar with " Old Uncle Ned," " Swanee Kibber," " Massa's in de cold,
cold ground," "Old Dog Tray," and "0, boys, carry me 'long?" But how many know any-
thing of the life of the extraordinary man who wrote them? He must have passed unnoticed
through the streets when from every lighted concert-room, from almost every family circle,
from every hand-organ or roaming ballad-singer's lips, were poured forth his irresistible
melodies. He wrote between two hundred and three hundred popular songs — more than
any other American ; and though they are not of equal popularity or merit, we have yet to
hear one which is devoid of meaning in the words, or beauty in the air.
STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER was born in Pittsburgh, Perm., July 4, 1826. He was a musi-
cian almost from his cradle, and at the age of seven had mastered the flageolet without a
teacher. Every instrument in turn gave up its sweetness to his touch ; but he never cared
to become a distinguished performer. To compose the words and music of a song was his
chief delight from boyhpod. He wrote the words first, and then hummed them over and
over till he found notes that would express them properly. His first published song ap-
peared in 1842, when he was a merchant's clerk in Cincinnati; a second was published the
same year in Baltimore. The success of these impelled him to give up business and devote
himself to composition for a livelihood. He returned to Pittsburgh, where he married.
Mr. Foster had a wide range of culture, was an eager reader, and proficient in French and
German, and was somewhat of a painter. The few who became his intimates speak most
enthusiastically of his varied powers ; but he was retiring and sensitive. He attempted to
illustrate one of his pathetic songs, and handed the sketch with the manuscript to his pub-
lisher, who looked at it a moment, and said pleasantly, "Oh! another comic song, Mr.
Poster !" The artist tore up the sketch, and made no more pictures for the public.
OLD DOQ TRAY. 5
It has been said that Foster i 515,000 for " Old Folks at Home." This is incor-
reci ,- but one pnuusumg house paid mm nearly $20,000 for those of his compositions which
were issued by them. His songs have been translated into most of the European and some
of the Asiatic languages.
Mr. Foster spent his last years in New York, where the most familiar sound was a
strain of his own music, and the least familiar sight a face that he knew. He became
somewhat improvident, and would sell for a few dollars a song that brought a large sum
to its purchaser. Several of his best were composed in a back room of an old down-town
grocery, on pieces of brown wrapping-paper. He died in a hospital to which he had been
carried from a hotel in the Bowery, January 18, 1864.
Of " Old Dog Tray," 125,000 copies were sold in eighteen months.
By special permission of Messrs. WILLIAM A, POND & Co.
£
^=±
1. The morn of life is past,
And ev- 'ning comes at last,
3
^
J
It
5
£
^?=^
£
-?
brings me a dream of a once hap-py day, Of mer - ry forms I've seen
~g~ » ~r"
Up -
(rh
— — ^:5— — N — ^
~ *
-f— f— -f-^— i
1
-d — « —
- OE
the vil - lage gre
^
en,
1
L-V f ^
Sport- ing with my o
\ ^ ^
d do
g
S *i
Tray.
-d 5
J .
L •" _
1
•
I
-*
*~
<d . *
(^): g •• <s
il *
0
J 1 J 1 «
— * 1
— 1 — — * —
c
^-3 ^
1
CHORUS.
Old dog Tray's e-ver faith - - ful
Grief can- not drive him a -way,
He's
gen-tie he is kind; I'll nev-er,nev-er find A bet -ter friend than old dog Tray
111 " J I J I J
:
-
.*•
£
,.
2. The forms Icall'dmy own, Have vanished one by one, The lov'd ones, the dear ones have
3. When thoughts recall the past, His eyes are on me cast; I know that he feels what my
all pass'd away ,Their happy smiles have flown,Their gentle voices gone ; I've nothing left but old dog Tray.
breaking heart would say : Although he cannot speak,!'!! vainly,vainly seek,A better friend than old dog Tray.
S
^E
3t *
AULD LANG SYNE. 7
AULD LANG SYNE.
ROBERT BURNS was horn near Ayr, Scotland, January 25, 1759. and died in Dumfries
on the 21st day of July, 1796. His loves and his sorrows, his joys and his revelings, are as
well known as his "Highland Mary" and his "Auld Lang Syne." Here is his own account
of his first love and his first song : " You know our country custom of coupling a man and
woman together as partners in the labors of harvest. In my fifteenth autumn, my partner
was a bewitching creature, a year younger than myself. My scarcity of English denies me
the power of doing her justice in that language; but you know the Scottish idiom — she
was a bonnie, sweet, sonsie lass. In short, she altogether, unwittingly to herself, initiated
me in that delicious passion, which, in spite of acid disappointment, gin-horse prudence,
and book- worm philosophy, I hold to be the first of human joys, our dearest blessing here
below ! How she caught the contagion, I cannot tell ; you medical people talk much of
infection from breathing the same air, the touch, &c. ; but I never expressly said I loved
her. Indeed, I did not know myself why I liked so much to loiter behind with her, when
returning in the evening from our labors; why the tones of her voice made my heart-
strings thrill like an JMian harp ; and, particularly, why my pulse beat such a furious rattan
when I looked and fingered over her little hand, to pick out the cruel nettle-stings and
thistles. Among her other love-inspiring qualities, she sung sweetly ; and it was her favor-
ite reel to which I attempted giving an embodied vehicle in rhyme. I was not so presump-
tuous as to imagine I could make verses like printed ones composed by men who had
jreek and Latin ; but my girl sung a song, which was said to be composed by a small
country laird's sou, on one of his father's maids, with whom he was in love ! and I saw no
reason why I might not rhyme as well as he ; for, excepting that he could smear sheep;
and cast peats, his father living in the moor-lands, he had no more scholar craft than myself."
Of the world-famous " Auld Lang Syne," only the second and third stanzas were writ-
ten by Burns, although he retouched them all. A song bearing that title can be traced in
broadsides to the latter part of 1600, and the phrase " auld lang syne," was current in the
time of Charles I. Allan Ramsay wrote an inferior set of words to the original air, be-
ginning—
" Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
Though thev return with scars ?"
In a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, dated December 17, 1788, Burns says: "Your meeting,
which you so well describe, with your old school-fellow and friend, was truly interesting.
Out upon the ways of the world ! — they spoil these ' social offspring of the heart.' Two
reterans of the 'men of the world' would have met with little more heart- workings than
TWO hacks worn out on the road. Apropos, is not the Scotch phrase, ' auld lang syne'
exceedingly expressive ? There is an old song and tune which has often thrilled through
my soul ; I shall give you the verses in the other sheet. Light be the turf on the breast of
the heaven-inspired poet who composed this glorious fragment !" It is impossible to tell
which set of words with this refrain Burns refers to in his letter to Mrs. Dunlop ; for there
are at least three which antedate his. Here is the best, given by Chambers, in his " Scot-
tish Songs." It bears the date 1716 :
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And never thought upon,
The flames of love extinguished.
And fully past and gone ?
Is thy kind heart now grown so cold
In that loving breast of thine,
That thou canst never once reflect
On Old Long Syne ?
Where are thy protestations,
Thy vows, and oathes, my dear,
Thou mad'st to me, and I to thee,
In regester yet clear?
Is faith and truth so violate
To the immortal gods divine,
That thou canst never once reflect
On Old Long Syne ?
8 OUlt FAMILIAK SONGS.
In another letter, to George Thomson, who is intimately associated with Burns and
Scottish music, dated September, 1793, Burns says: "One song more, and I have done—
'Auld Lang Syne.' The air is but mediocre ; but the following song, the old song of the
olden times, and which has never been in print, nor even in manuscript, until I took it down
from an old man's singing, is enough to recommend any air." Mr. Thomson set the words
to an old Lowland melody, entitled " I fee'd a lad at Michaelmas," and together they make
our Old Long Since.
l»o for-got, And days o' lang - *\\\<-': For auld
- syne, my dear. For
^fTI ^rPpfeE£E£^
3
^=^==^— ^—j-^--^-- — j
« • •
:ml<l lang - syiif.
We'll tak' a cup o' kind - ness yet, For auld lang - syne.
u=
\\V twa ha<- run about the bra- •>.
And pu'd the gowans fine ;
But we've wander'd mony H \v.-ary foot.
Sin' auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, etc.
We twa hae paidl't in the burn
Fne morning sun till <lin> :
But Aeas between us braid hae r<mr'<i
Sin' auld lang syne.
For anld lang syno. fir.
And there's a hand, my trusty frieti',
And gie's a hand o' thine ;
And we'll tak' a right gude willy-waught
For auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, etc.
And surely ye'll be your pint stoup,
As surely I'll be mine ! .
And we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
For auld lang sync, etc.
I'.KX BOLT. 9
BEN BOLT.
THE name of DR. THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH is familiar to the readers of the past forty
years; but I think it has not generally been associated with this widely popular song. The
music appeared with only the composer's name attached, and that has always been given
incorrectly.
Dr. English was born in Philadelphia, June 29, 1819. He received the degree of M. D.
from the University of Pennsylvania in 1839, was called to the bar in 1842, and has been a
practising physician at Fort Lee, New Jersey, since 1859. He was for years devoted to lit-
erary pursuits, as author, editor, and contributor to various periodicals. His vigorous
poem, "The Gallows-Goers/' made a great sensation about 1845, when capital punishment
was an exciting subject of popular debate. A selection from his historical poems has
recently (1880) been published in New York, under the title of "American Ballads."
" Ben Bolt" was written in 1842. Its author was visiting in New York, and N. P. Willis,
who with George P. Morris was editing the New Mirror, asked him for a gratuitous con-
tribution, and suggested that it be a sea-song. Dr. English promised one, and on returning
to his home, attempted to make good his word. Only one line that smacked of the sea
came at his bidding ; but at a white heat he composed the five stanzas of " Ben Bolt," as it
now reads, betraying the original intention in the last line of the last stanza. Within a
year the poem had been reprinted in England, and its author then thought it might be a
still greater favorite if set to appropriate music. Dominick M. H. Hay wrote an air for it,
which was never printed ; and Dr. English wrote one himself, which, although printed, had
no sale. It was written entirely for the black keys. In 1 848, a play was brought out in
Pittsburgh, Penn., called "The Battle of Buena Vista," in which the song of "Ben Bolt"
was introduced. A. M. Hunt, an Englishman, connected with western journalism, had read
the words in an English newspaper, and gave them from memory to NELSON KNEASS,
filling in from his imagination where his memory failed. Kneass adapted a German melody
to the lines, and they were sung in the play. The drama died, but the song survived. A
music publisher of Cincinnati obtained the copyright, and it was the business success of
his career. In theatres, concert-rooms, minstrel-shows, and private parlors nothing was
heard but " Ben Bolt." It was ground on hand-organs, and whistled in the streets, and
" Sweet Alice" became the pet of the public. A steamboat in the West, and a ship in the
East, were named after her. The steamer was blown up, and the ship was wrecked ; but
Alice floated safely in the fragile bark of song. The poem went abroad, and obtained great
popularity in England. The streets of London were flooded with parodies, answers, and
imitations, printed on broadsides, and sung and sold by curbstone minstrels. A play was
written there, based upon it, and as late as 1877 a serial novel ran through a London
weekly paper of note, in which the memories evoked by the singing of " Ben Bolt " played
n prominent part in evolving the catastrophe.
NELSON KNEASS (not Nicholas, as the name has been generally printed), came of a good
family, but preferred a semi- vagrant life. He was a teacher of music in New York, and a
singer in the Park Theatre, and afterward became a negro minstrel. He married a Mrs.
Sharpe, who lost her life by falling overboard from a Mississippi steamboat. He was a jolly,
companionable fellow, " nobody's enemy but his own," and ended a precarious existence
in poverty. He always complained that he received but a trifle for the music. The author
of the words, in true authorly fashion, never received anything, not even a copy of the
published song, and when he complained of mutilation in the words, he was told that they
were decidedly improved ! I give the original stanzas complete.
10
OUR FAMILIAR .SONGS.
1. Oh: don't you remember sweet Al-ice, Ben Bolt— Sweet Al - ice whose hair was so
fc=
-? 1
3E^EE3EEJEEPJ
^
brown.
Who wept with delight, when you gave her a smile, And
35 ^
f • -9
trembled with fear at vour frown.
In the old church yard, in the valley, Ben Bolt,ln a
-!••»••*• •*
--*— -fc
3gE
13-
-N H—
:*z= — r— jti: — ^==fc=:=
cor-ner ob-scure and a - lone,
They have fit - ted a slab of the
^^
^ • T ^'
'-*-*-*—
^
» I
=¥=^
_
fe^
BEN -BOLT.
11
granite so gray, And sweet Alice lies un - der the stone,
dFi3=4=|E3
-*• -*• -0- -0-
— r* — E —
— J-T-y-
They have
libitum.
fit-ted a slab of the gran-ite so gray, And sweet Alice lies un - der the stone.
-sc-Z'-^i- -^r-^j--^ TrTTTr
-*•-*•-•• -» •? •*•
Don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt? —
Sweet Alice, whose hair was so brown,
Who wept with delight when you gave her a smile,
And trembled with fear at your frown !
In the old church-yard, in the valley, Ben Bolt,
In a'corner obscure and alone,
They have fitted a slab of the granite so gray,
And Alice lies under the stone !
Under the hickory tree, Ben Bolt,
Which stood at the foot of the hill,
Together we've lain in the noon-day shade,
And listened to Appleton's mill.
The mill-wheel has fallen to pieces, Ben Bolt,
The rafters have tumbled in,
And a quiet that crawls round the walls as you gaze,
Has followed the olden din.
Do you mind the cabin of logs, Ben Bolt,
At the edge of the pathless wood,
And the button-ball tree with its motley limbs,
Which nigh by the door-step stood?
The cabin to ruin has gone, Ben Bolt,
The tree you would seek in vain ;
And where once the lords of the forest waved,
Grows grass and the golden grain.
And don't you remember the school, Ben Bolt,
With the master so cruel and grim,
And the shaded nook by the running brook,
Where the children went to swim?
Grass grows on the master's grave, Ben Bolt,
The spring of the brook is dry,
And of all the boys Avho were schoolmates then,
There are only you and I.
There is change in the things I loved, Ben Bolt,
They have changed from the old to the new ;
But I feel in the depths of my spirit the truth,
There never was change in you.
Twelve-months twenty have past, Ben Bolt,
Since first we were friends — yet I hail
Thy presence a blessing, thy friendship a truth,
Ben Bolt, of the salt-sea gale !
12
or/,' FAMILIAR A'O.VU.V.
I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.
OTHER Ivrics of THOMAS HOOD'S have been set to music ; but none have been familiarly
ninff except the one that follows. The story of Hood's life,— of his poverty, his extreme
and constant bodily suffering, his domestic love and loss, his manly straggles and" Ins boy-
ish mirth —is a twice-told tale. He tells us, in his « Literary Reminiscences," that he—
sat upon a lofty stool,
At lofty desk, and with a clerkly pen
Began each morning, at the stroke of ten,
To write in Bell ft Co.'s commercial school ;
In Warnford Court, a shady nook and cool,
The favorite retreat of merchant men ;
Yet would my quill turn vagrant even then,
And take stray dips in the Castalian pool.
Now double entry— now a flowery trope-
Mingling poetic honey with trade wax—
Blogg Brothers— Milton — Grote and Prescott— Pope —
Bristles— and Hogg— Glyn Mills and Halifax-
Rogers— and Towgood— Hemp— the Bard of Hope—
Barilla— Byron— Tallow— Burns— and Flax !
And iii a characteristic letter to Bulwer, he says : " I must die in harness, like a hero or a
horse." Hood, who thought that " next to being a citizen of the world, it must be the best
thing to be born a citizen of the world's greatest city," was so born, in real Cockneydom,
close to Bow Bells, London, May 23d, 1798. He died May 3d, 1845, and was buried in Keu-
sull Green Cemetery. Eliza Cook visited his grave, and found it entirely unmarked. Nine
years were suffered to pass before there was anything to note a tomb except the too
familiar rounded heap of sod. Then, amid a vast multitude of sad and silent spectators,.
Hood's statue was unveiled there. The graceful vigor of Miss Cook's lines, no less than
their subject, justifies their citation in full.
What gorgeous cenotaphs arise, of Parian shrine and granite vault ;
What blazoned claims on purer skies, that shut out earthly flaw and fault!
Who lies below yon splendid tomb, that stretches out so broad and tall?
The worms will surely ne'er exhume a sleeper locked within such wall.
And sec that other stately pile of chiselled glory, staring out !
Come, sexton, leave your work awhile, and tell us what we ask about.
So! one belongs to him who held a score of trained and tortured steeds —
Great Circus Hero, unexcelled, — on what strange stuff Ambition feeds !
Tin- other guards the last repose of one who shone by juggling craft.
Mcthinks when such a temple rose, how Esculapius must have laughed.
And see that tomb beneath yon tree! — but, sexton, tell us where to find
The grave of him we came to see; — is it not here, or are we blind?
We mean poor Hood's— the man who made that song about the " Bridge of Sighs.'*
You know the song; well, leave your spade, and please to show us where he lies.
What! there! without a single mark— without a stone— without a line-
Does watchfirc Genius leave no spark to note its ashes as divine?
Must strangers come to woo his shade, scanning rare beauties as they pass;
And when they pause where he is laid, stop at a trodden mound of grass?
And i> it thus? Well, we suppose, England is far too poor to spare
A slab of white, where Truth might write the title of her Poet Heir.
l«t us adorn our city walks with senate-form and soldier-chief—
Carve toga-folds and laurel stalks,— let marble shine in robe and leaf.
Miit Hood—" poor Hood"— the poet fool, who sung of women's woes and wrongs,
Who tan-lit his Master's golden rule,— give him no statue for his songs!
' -!v.- him the dust beneath hi- head, give him a grave — a grave alone;
In life he dearly won his bread, in death he was not worth a stone.
Perhaps we rightly think that he who flung God's light round lowly things,
Can soar above in memory's love, supported bv »»U own strong wings.
/ REMEMBER, 1 REMEMBElt.
Our Shakespeare can be only met within a narrow play-house porch ;
So, Hood, thy spirit need not fret, but hold its own immortal torch.
Poor Hood ! for whom a people wreathes the heart-born flowers that never die ;
Poor Hood! for whom a requiem breathes in every human, toil-wrung sigh.
Let the horse-tamer's bed be known by the rich mausoleum-shrine ;
And let thy soul serenely sleep, while pilgrims stand, as 1 1
To worship at a nameless heap, and fondly, sadly say, " PC
The music of Hood's song, " I remember," was made
composer, author of many beautiful airs, who was born
associated with his brothers as a music publisher in Lond
av(
>or
b3
in
an.
j stood,
Hood ! "
7 JOHN BLOCKLEY, an Englist
1800, and was for many year!
He died Dec. 24, 1882.
Lf I \/ 4)
IS £
V
0 • 4
w _,'
^ r
3 S n J
j/y U ^ Xv
i J^
J
f1
r i
i *
i
J
N J f
IM\ ^ \) >\
J f
1
J
i
1
1 *
«r i *
532 4-
9 • 1
•
L • W
J J
#
•
'2 v
L
2.
I re -
I re -
-0 • »
mem - ber,
mem - ber,
0
0 •
V • w v Ww
I re - mem - ber The house where I was
I re - mem - ber The ros - es red and
g . • J J m • • m » 0
£>-V k O
H 1 1
L
L^V-u_4-
~l — ~ y —
-
p —
— h — ; K
v 1
* 1~
- b b b—
' j *^
\ \j
Q
r x
, ™
n r r
0 p
N
K
*
V \> v
P
J
y K .
L 1 N
^ Is* K i
f?Kb b — «
•^
• ^
1 -±- — • — ~*
^ if
^ — p*
:3 — *— — M
((3+ — |f — *
_ _!_
— — »
— 4 *
d i—
ai—
--*! — i — ^ — :+—
born, The
white, The
0
lit - tie win - dow where the
vio - lets and the li - ly -
~fc 0\ 01. m m
sun Came peep - ing in at
cups, Those flow - ers made of
0 m 0 H.
2fcA* \-*
M
t P
r r
p i
: 0
IT
l^xi, L — p
— =1 —
T —
— v v
— v f
Eg f
b — r
~t — i — L >
u fcq:
tdl
J— \r
•M — I — I — H
/OK N k
h
^
^ N K N
11 h
V i ' i
p s . .. .
* «
J
P
•
X b h J
P
1
1 J
,J •
fin " J i
Q0 ^
j
1 i
31
SSC f • '
J ^j !
E
J
J !
a
J
*••- » » .-•» » - »- - v
\j
morn ; He nev - er came a wink to soon, Nor brought too long a
light; The li - lacs, where the ro • bin built, And where my bro - ther
^rn p-= p— , H J^-to • 0 g . 1*" B»- P » ,
P-'i "
1 — p p 0
« —
~T P
P F~
"~ T — T P"
— r~1
^^b-b — •-= p—
— F F K^
J—
— L U
y ^ —
— L 6 L-
— E — I
^^ — — • \j H H^
i Q b 1 — — fg 1 j — 5- \ Nj
~i — r — N\
r r> N f^
~~« n
u t
day, But new I of - ten wish the night Had borne my breath a - way.
set The la - bur - num, on his birth - day, And the tree is liv - ing yet.
\l^r~i — =i — I r F L — M-
-*- r r =-:
3E3
^^P p- — • — W k 1* p— -
9 \>
t c r c'
P P
• —
^
7
-f-^h
14
OUR FAMILJAI! \O.Y',.s.
I remember, 1 remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn ;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.
I remember, I remember
The roses red and white,
The violets and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light ;
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum, on his birthday,
And the tree is living yet.
I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing:
My spirit flew in feathers then.
That is so heavy now ;
The summer pool could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.
I remember, I remember
The fir-trees dark and high ;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close again the sky :
It was a childish ignorance.
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from Heaven,
Than when I was a boy.
I REMEMBER.
WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED, a classmate of Macaulay's at Cambridge University.
and his friendly rival in the boyish turning of a Greek ode or a Latin epigram, was bora in
London, of wealthy parents, July 26, 1802. He was pleasing, brilliant and thoughtful.
Besides his rhymed charades, which lifted that kind of literature above the plane of mere
ingenious nonsense, he wrote many exquisite poems. He was happily married, and both
he and his verse were favorites in society. He had been admitted to the Bar, served in
Parliament, and was entering upon a promising literary career, when he died at the age of
thirty-seven.
The words of the song "I remember," were written in June, 1833. The music \\;is
composed for them by LADY EDWARD FITZGERALD.
¥~. !> ,p • <S I f *
• * -^S ^ ^ '
i h K N-H
s , " ' r*"i
I re - mem - her,
* *
[ re - mem - her How my
4 i — „ —> — =r:
child -hood fleet- ed by, The
~5 1 ' ! B 1 1 1
l> ( '
, -i- — =^= —
« •- /
>• -*-+-*
!> [A' * I— j •
5
A
— • —
i
mirth of its De - ccm - her, and the warmth of its Ju -
3*
On my
^==P =3
=3zi±i^^
I REMEMBER. 15
f% Con express.
±hk .^ _»_ * Hs -i 3±=fe ->
• *-. . » t V
A*-t?-r» '- P— — Vmi * — ' ~*~j •—
BT5F 2 — ^ J f- BK_ '^_^__^.' *
\ u *u r~£ ->_ij
brow, love, on my brow, love, There are no signs of care, But my
— * *! *y * * * ^J« ?• J« jj '
* K Zi 0 — Zt— S •*- • 0m. 0m. 0m. » ^ 0 1
^ P -+ -+ * ~
"^ . - ^| --•- -- -
,
\ \ \ . i~.
-4 *• ml *
K 1 1
1 J F 1
* 1
V/^N
-j^— 1^| ^ S: = — i j-1 i —
j - -,»••• f » 3
rm K "J « fl* * -*1*1
^ 1 1 • iV i i v ^ 1
picas - ures are not now, love, What child - hood's pleas - ures were. I re -
§ PP ' •
r1^- =f= =r=
-T-J -j -±
^~jn — f — — ' i* « — — * —
J._Tj =j ^ j{
"^^
=g= r. p_
-T ^ V ^-^f-m,
jr~b^i — — ' * a a —
-f~ I" N F K 1— p--— H—.J
^T)^ p * [p *. ^ 4!
1 ^ ml 6 ^ ' W 1
mem - ber, I re - mem - ber How my
child -hood fleet - ed by, The
V^V V m *l *1 « « J
tr • *
1 1
-+ -+ -+ •+-+-+
\
"^"l? "i i * i
|| 1 J v 1
1 I n I
_.j. 4
•*• -*•
-••
/TS
— ^ ^ h;— *—!—«— — ^--. - « — J—
mirth of its De - cem - ber, And the warmth of its Ju - ly.
)L \j i *• ' ^ ~] *» H
gfckLl2 — / ^ J 3 * J—
1 T^ "* "* "I*"
i 1 1
5- •*• •«*• -J- -J- -f
RI.J2 9 ^ 9,
1 ~ — ^~l^ 1
1—* =f — 1-1
I remcrriber, I remember
How my childhood fleeted by,
The mirth of its December,
And the warmth of its July.
On my brow, love, on my brow, love,
There are no signs of care,
But my pleasures are not now, love,
What childhood's pleasures were.
•*• ^
Then the bowers, then the bowers
Were as blithe as blithe could be,
And all their radiant flowers
Were coronals for me ;
Gems to-night, love, gems to-night, love,
Are gleaming in my hair,
But they are not half so bright, love,
As childhood's roses were.
16
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
I was singing,— I was singing,
And my songs were idle words ;
But from my heart was springing
Wild music like a bird's.
Now I sing, love— now I sing, love,
A fine Italian air;
But it's not so glad a thing, love,
As childhood's ballads were.
I was merry, I was merry,
When my little lovers came,
With a lily, or a cherry,
Or a new invented game ;
Now I've you, love, now I've you, love,
To kneel before me there,
But you know you're not so true, love,
As childhood's lovers were.
OH, WOULD I WERE A BOY AGAIN!
THE song which follows is characteristic of its author, MARK LEMON, founder and editor
of London Punch. Youth's best gifts, hope and enthusiasm, were never lost to him, and
the man of gigantic proportions was at heart a perpetual boy. Sympathetic, generous.
modest, and true-hearted, he was universally beloved, though his virtues were most appar-
ent and best appreciated in his own home. He formed a love-match while young and poor,
and although he was never substantially wealthy, and died leaving very little to his family,
he had one of the happiest homes on earth. He played a royal game of romps, and could
beat his boys at leap-frog. Mr. Joseph L. Hatton, in his pleasant volume of reminiscences
of Mark Lemon, says: "Years hence, it may seem almost beyond belief that the founder of
Punch died without deserving the enmity of any man, beloved by all who had labored with
him, respected by men of all creeds and parties ; being, nevertheless, one who had never
sacrificed the independence of his paper."
Lemon had a Falstaffian appearance, and an aptitude for representation, and he played
the part of the redoubtable knight in the private theatricals which Dickens and kindred
spirits enacted, and which became famous in London. Lemon formed a small theatrical
company of his own, with which he played throughout England, and made the tour of Scot-
land. The little amateur party named itself " The Show." Mr. Hatton, who was a mem-
ber of the company, says: "The grave and reverend chief, sweet Jack Falstaff, rare Jack
Falstaff, kind Jack Falstali', smiled benignantly upon our frolicsome notions. He gave him-
self up to all our whims and fancies. It seemed as if he were trying to be young again.
For that matter, he was young; he had a rich, unctuous voice, and a merry, catching laugh.
Not fame, but money for his family, was the object which he sought. He made careful
study of Falstaff, and he always insisted that old Sir John 'was not a buffoon, but a gentle-
man; fallen away in the general degeneracy of the times, but, nevertheless, a gentlemen.'"
While writing as busily, but not as readily as ever, Mark Lemon says: "It seems out
of character lor an old boy like me to be telling love-stories. I don't know that I have lost
faith, nor sentiment either, but I hurry over love-scenes as if I had no business with them."
The description of Fal staffs death had always moved the nobler man who played his part.
Falstali' in dying "babbled of green fields," and Mark Lemon, in his last moments, wan-
dered back in fancy to the loved and unforgotten scenes of his boyhood's home.
He was bora in London, November 30th, 1809, and died at Crawley, Sussex, May 23d,
1870. Besides his editorial work on Punch, and writings for other periodicals, he wrote
forty plays, a few novels, and hundreds of ballads. His last, unfinished, and intended as
the second of a series, was found scratched in lead pencil on a sheet of blue foolscap paper,
and had no title. Youth and Love were the victors, ;is they had always been with him.
It reads-
011. WOULD I WERE A BOY AGAIN.
17
We are two heroes come from strife ;
Where have we been fighting?
On the battlefield of life,
Doing wrong, wrong righting.
Forth we went a gallant band —
Youth, Love, Gold, and Pleasure;
Who, we said, caii us withstand?
Who dare lances measure ?
Round about the world we went ;
Ne'er were such free lances —
Victors in each tournament,
Winning beauty's glances.
Gold, at last, his prowess lost,
And when he departed,
Pleasure's lance was rarely crossed,
Pleasure grew faint-hearted.
FRANK ROMER, an Englishman, born about 1820, wrote the music of this song for Sig-
nor Giubilei, a noted Italian baritone, who appeared in opera in this country. Komer was
never paid a penny for it, nor did he receive any very large sum for his numerous other
songs. But he was wise enough to leave the business of composing for that of publishing,
and is now a partner in a prosperous music firm in London. Here he has a noble oppor-
tunity to give to struggling composers that encouragement in the way of appreciation and
fair pay of which he himself felt the need in his younger days. " Oh, Would I were a Boy
again ! " was made still more popular by a minstrel troupe, who sang it every night for
three years.
(OT4 J * *~
s P •
^fr -d -^-^
-P-'-1t—
— i/ — • — \^~j —
- *— j •
-+-• ^—
1. Oh, would I were a boy a - gain, When life seem'd form'd of sun-ny years, And all the
2. 'Tis vain to mourn that years have shown How false these fai - ry vi-sions were, Or murmur
A L, * O would I
XI tl fj «•! V»
urr 4 *
HZ 4-
— — J
m
—
1— W 1 _ 1
g ^
gj
-J-al J—
tr
pp
"1 *1
r ~j" "J
-*
-^-f^
V
j^A • U k >
'^
P_/» 7 f ) «>| v»
J
— J
' J 1 ^
^-^^— ^ —
-«f
— 4-
— <5
i
j
zif—
T£
3
-&
«>
9
k' • r % r r
heart then knew of pain Was wept a - way in transient tears, Was wept a -
t.hat, minf> evps havfi known Tlif> hiir-thpn nf a flpet.-inor t.pnr. Thf> hiir-then
knew of pain Was wept a - way in transient tears, Was wept a -
that mine eyes have known The bur-then of a fleet- ing tear, The bur- then
g boy a- gain, When lift > seem'd form' 'd nf sun- ny yearn. When life seem'd
.were
Rallen. Fine. A tempo.
v
way in transient tears. When ev'ry tale hope whisper'd then, My fan-cy deemed wason-ly
of a fleet-ing tear ;' But ^till the heart will fond-ly cling To hopes no long - erpriz'das
i'd of sunny j/ears.
grip- -J- qj: -J- ^- '-4^-4 q^r^f
Ul'U FAMILIAR
Crts.
truth'.
o|, would that 1 could know a - gain The hap - py vi-sions
And m.'in-'ry still de-lights to bring The hap - py vi-sions
of my youth.
of my youth.
THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.
THK public that has so often slighted the names of its pleasautest comforters, has
occasionally sought to raise from obscurity one to whom its debts were infinitely less.
SAMUEL WOODWORTH deserved from his fellow men nothing more than the common
decencies of life, until he chanced, by mere persistency of scribbling, to produce
something which, though but tolerable as poetry, touched the universal heart.
Popular impression seems to class him in the list of the unappreciated great, who
might have done more had more been done for them. Is it commonly remembered that a
volume of his was published in New York, with an eulogistic introduction by George P.
Morris, which contained one hundred poems, save one, — and the lacking one is the only
real one that Woodworth ever wrote — " The Old Oaken Bucket," which was not then in
existence.
He was born in Scituate, Plymouth County, Massachusetts, January 13th, 1785. His
father w;us a fanner, and very poor. At fourteen, Samuel had picked up but little reading,
writing and arithmetic, when he began to make rhymes which the village authorities, — the
minister, and the school-master—saw and pronounced remarkable. The minister took
him into his own family, and instructed him in English branches and Latin ; but verse-
making kept him from study, and the love of it. The minister tried to raise money enough
to carry him through college ; but the undertaking failed, and the spirit which inspired
many youths of his day to get an education through their own efforts, was not possessed
by our hero. He chose the calling of a printer, but at the end of his apprenticeship in a
Boston omce, he had wearied of the arduous work. He formed a preposterous plan for
making a tour over the whole country, in order to write a description of his travels. But
again prnph- were reluctant to invest for his benefit} and as the economical and health-
ring method of walking did not tempt his fancy, his biographer touchingly records, that
when that hope had failed him also, he returned to the printer's case. Soon after, he
rn-aged in a wild six-dilation, and the same friendly hand euphemistically writes that "the
unfortunate result rendered a temporary absence from his native State necessary to the
•vat ion of his personal liberty." He then planned a journey to the South, and a
fnend who had often given him the same kind of assistance, supplied a purse that would
lim a little way. He vainly asked for work at the printing-offices along his route,
I arrived in New Haven with blistered feet and an empty pocket. With additional
•oni his generous friend, he continued his journey to New York, where he found
1 further loan awaiting him. But verse-making and love-making claimed
most ot his time, and in nine months he abandoned the employment that had once given
THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. 19
him the means of support and left him leisure for literary pursuits. He then established
a newspaper, procuring an outfit upon credit. It was called The Belles-Lettres Reposi-
tory, and was enthusiastically dedicated to the ladies. Perhaps the fair were highly flat-
tered, but the brothers, lovers, and husbands failed to buy. A crash, of course, ensued^
after which the creditors had the pleasure of reading a poem of six hundred lines, which
the publisher and editor wrote to relieve his feelings.
He worked in Hartford a few weeks, and then went back to his early home. Once
more he set out, on foot, in search of fame and fortune. He wandered to Baltimore, pay-
ing his way by writing for the newspapers, and he never lacked a market for his rhymes.
But, poor as ever, he returned to New York, and involved other lives in the needless bitter-
ness of his own. He married, and four little ones were born to, and amid the miseries ofr
his poverty.
During the war of 1812-'15, Mr. Woodworth conducted a weekly newspaper called
The War, and a monthly magazine called The Halcyon Luminary and Theological deposi-
tory. The latter was devoted to the doctrine of Swedenborg, of whom Woodworth was a
follower. More debt was all that resulted to him. through his enterprise. He had no diffi-
culty in obtaining employment in a printing-office, and, while working there, he was asked
to write a history of the war with England, in the style of a romance, to be entitled "The
Champions of Freedom." So eager was the public for this story, which nobody now reads,
that the author was often compelled to send twelve uurevised lines at a time to the
press. The printing was begun when but two sheets were written.
Two publishing-houses simultaneously offered to collect, illustrate, and publish Wood-
worth's poems, and accompany them with a sketch of his life. They hunted stray corners
for his rhymed scraps, and solemnly asserted that " they wished no advantage to them-
selves, but were moved only by the desire to rescue from oblivion the fugitive productions
of a native poet, who upon the other side of the water would have attained opulence, and
to relieve an unfortunate author from pecuniary embarrassment;" adding that, if that
effort met with success, a second volume would be forthcoming ! Samuel Woodworth died
December 9th, 1842.
uThe Old Oaken Bucket" was written in the summer of 1817, when Mr. Woodworth,
with his family, was living in Duane street, New York City. One hot day, he came into the
house, and pouring out a glass of water, drained it eagerly. As he set it down, he ex-
claimed, " That is very refreshing, but how much more refreshing would it be to take a
good, long draught from the old oaken'bucket I left hanging in my father's well, at home."
" Selim," said his wife, " wouldn't that be a pretty subject for a poem ?"
At this suggestion, Woodworth seized his pen, and as the home of his childhood rose
vividly to his fancy, he wrote the now familiar words. The name of Frederick Smith
appears as composer of the air, but he was merely the arranger, as the melody is adapted
from Kiallmark's music written for Moore's "Araby's Daughter/'
•ff o r ~p ~jV J*~T _ I* g r T _ -S- ___ v ~r T H- ~p ~r T _ ~T m __ -*» _
=f=i^}E«E^?E3=. zzfirzzifct: ~^—p=4- :=£=3=3= •=^=?~
—0 --- *-T— * - *— —$ - ^— - # - * ---- * - * - *—' — *-T— i - +—
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my child- hood, When fond re -col -
The or -chard, the mead - ow, the deep - tan-gled wild -wood, And ev - 'ry loved
The old oak - en buck - et, the i - ron-bouud buck - et, the moss-cov- ered
OUR FAMILIAR fiONGH.
FINE.
- liv - tion pre - souls thfin to view.
spot which my in - fan - cy knew.
buck - <-t that hung in the well.
=f=fe»=f=
7 — rrtz^I
1 —
^ N I N ~N ^
~"i" * 1
' ' "m I
"4 *~
* 4r *r * *
The wide - spread - ing pond, the
The cot
of my fath - er, tlie
r
•
f
£
— i
I—
5
"
*
D. C.
— T z^zii^-
=£=*= ^rj3=4=^E: =
-1-— — -J ---
mill that stood by it, The bridge and the rock where the cat - a - ract fell,
dai - ry house nigh it, And e'en the rude buck - et that hung in the well.
How dear to my heart are the scenes of my child-
hood
When fond recollection presents them to view ;
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-
wood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew \
The wide-spreading pond, the mill that stood by
it,
The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell,
The cot of my father, the dairy house nigh it,
And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well.
Cko. — The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound
bucket,
The moss-covered bucket that hung in the
well.
The moss-covered bucket 1 hailed as a treasure,
For often at noon when returned from the field.
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were
glowing,
And quick to the white, pebbled bottom it fell.
Then soon with the emblem of truth overflowing.
And dropping with coolness it rose from the
well.
How sweet from the green, mossy rim to receive
it,
As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips:
Not a full, blushing goblet could tempt me to
leave it,
Tho' filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
And now, far removed from the loved situation.
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,
And sighs for the bucket which hung in the well.
THE OLD ARM-CHAIR.
IT was in ELIZA COOK'S girlhood that "The Old Arm-Chair" was made vacant bv h«-r
ifs d.-ath ; and the daughter's life was not very happy until, with the profits of her
writ mus, shr had bought a house and made herself a charming home We think of her
almost as the occupant of the old arm-chair herself; but it is not so many years since our
untry-woman, Frances S. Osgood, wrote from London: "Eliza Cook is just what her
would lead you to imagine her-a frank, brave, and warm-hearted girl, about
7 y7irSH°lrT- n ' f^ rd ?lrdy 10°king' ^ a face not hand^ "it verv
intelligent. Her hair is black, and very luxuriant, her eyes gray and full of exnressi, nil
her mouth indescribably sweet." As she is a little out of Lhion now-a ^TyT we are
always surprised to find how pleasant her writings are, and, especially how sp trited a^
iome of her lyrics. She was bom in London in 1*17.
THE OLD ARM-CHAIR.
21
HENRY RUSSELL, the famous composer, who made the air to which " The Old Arm-
Chair" is set, was born in England about 1812. He is said to have been of Jewish descent,
but those who were intimate with him say that his features did not indicate it. He began
his professional life as a music-teacher, and while he was pursuing that vocation in Bir-
mingham, his talents so fascinated Miss Isabella Lloyd, daughter of a rich Quaker banker,
who possessed twenty-five thousand dollars a year in her own right, that she ran away
from home and married him. Russell wrote music for some of Charles Mackey's spirited
lyrics, and got up a series of concerts which were very popular throughout the British
Islands. Authorities differ respecting his voice ; contemporary journals speak of its mag-
nificent quality and compass, while a trustworthy account says that he sang effectively,
without anything like a voice. He' certainly had power to move audiences, and much of
his success came from his selection of simple and picturesque words, which he rendered
with feeling and a perfectly distinct utterance. He sang the pathetic and the rollicking
with equal success.
Russell visited the United States about 1843, and is still well remembered here. He
carried home golden spoils ; and after a few successful tours in the old world, gave up the
stage entirely and devoted himself to a business more profitable even than that of a favor-
ite singer. He became a bill-discounter, what we should call a " note-shaver," in London,
and amassed an immense fortune.
I love it, I love it, and who shall dare To chide me for loving that Old Arm Chair? I've
treasured it long as a ho - ly prize, I'vebe-dew'd it with tears, and embalm'cl it with sighs ;'Tis
bound by athou - sand bands to my heart, Not a tie will break, not a link will start. Would ye
^Ts
OUK FAMILIAR SONGS.
E
Irani
the spell,
a moth-er sat there, And a sa - cred thing is that
^ -
Old Ann Chair.
ft) -T|
Jte
m
IT ftCl
I sat and watch'd her ma - ny a day, When her eye grew dim, and her locks weregray,And I
^- i ^ -* -^- — h -^- y ibH-
!> f^ ^ •* -r ^IB*-
^r—r^?
E- * =
: E=^-"
worshipp'dher when she smiled, And turn'd from her bi- ble to bless her child.
Tetraroll'd on, but the lut one sped, My I - do] was shatterM, my earth star fled : I
THE OLD ARM-CHAIR.
23
learnt how much the heart can bear, When 1 saw her die in that
Old Arm Chair.
-V
4_
f
'Tis j)ast ! 'ti.s past ! but 1 gajse on it now With quiver-ing breath, and throb - bing brow, 'Twas
^F-
&±*
33
3*^
,_4~
-H-*-— -'— J— 4-0
:0=i-35p -5*
-htstrzf
rj
i i
_|
^____P . ~i~ — I i r r * v " ~~i r~" ' x ! _ r j— — ^ — I — —
E!=iE^gl_=EgE E^E^lEEgE =fe EEEtlE
^ / _L — i i CIj 14 ^-^ J ' — I 1 '
•&- -0- -»••»- •*••*- •*• — r
there she nurs'd me, 'twas there she died; And mem -'ry flows with la - va tide.
~—— ^ • : P'"
±±^3
4
•«••
-_| 4
:&f
z>—
SEE
:=t
S?-:
Eg|^^g^^g=^j=
Say it is fol-ly, and deem me weak, While the scald-ing drops start down my cheek; But I
1
(2
^m
love it, I love it, and can - not tear My soul from a mo - ther's
_ T_^_ I f 0_^r U
I love it, I love it ; and who shall dare
To chide me for loving that old arm-chair?
I've treasured it long as a sainted prize ;
I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with
sighs ;
'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart,
Not a tie will break, not a link will start.
Would you learn the spell ? — a mother sat there,
And a sacred thing is that old arm-chair.
In childhood's hour I lingered near
The hallowed seat with listening ear;
And gentle words that mother would give.
To fit me to die, and teach me to live.
She told me shame would never betide,
With truth for my creed and God for my guide :
She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer,
As I knelt beside that old arm-chair.
I sat and watched her many a day.
When her eye grew dim, and her locks were
gray;
And I almost worshipped her when she smiled,
And turned from her Bible to bless her child.
Years rolled on; but the last one sped —
My idol was shattered, my earth-star fled :
I learnt how much the heart can bear,
When I saw her die in that old arm-chair.
'Tis past, 'tis past, but I gaze on it now
With quivering breath and throbbing brow;
"Twas there she nursed me, 'twas there she died;
And memory flows with lava tide.
Say it is folly, and deem me weak,
While the scalding drops run down my cheek;
But I love it, I love it, and cannot tear
My soul from a mother's old arm-chair.
WOODMAN, XPAltE THAT THEE. 25
WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.
GEORGE P. MORRIS'S songs have in them the something which lives in the memory
and the heart. They seem like happy accidents of a mind that could arrange and make
available the talent of other men, rather than originate. General Morris was best known
as a successful editor of journals of polite literature, when our country most needed such
journalism. He is inseparably associated with N. P. Willis, with whom he conducted the
Mirror, the New Mirror, and the Home Journal. Samuel Woodworth, whose " Old Oaken
Bucket " is founded on the same sentiments that make Mr. Morris's songs popular, started
the Mirror with him, when Morris was but twenty-one years old ; but Woodworth very
soon left the firm. General Morris was born in Philadelphia, October 10, 1802, but his life
is entirely associated with New York City, where he died July 6, 1864.
The following is his own account of the way in which "Woodman, Spare that Tree"
came to be written : " Eiding out of town a few days since, in company with a friend, who
was once the expectant heir of the largest estate in America, but over whose worldly
prospects a blight has recently come, he invited me to turn down a little romantic wood-
land pass, not far from Bloomingdale. 'Your object?' inquired I. 'Merely to look once
more at an old tree planted by my grandfather, near a cottage that was once my father's.'
' The place is yours, then ?' said I. ' No, my poor mother sold it,' — and I observed a slight
quiver of the lip, at the recollection. 'Dear mother !' resumed my companion, 'we passed
many, many happy days in that old cottage; but it is nothing to me now. Father, mother,
sisters, cottage — all are gone !' After a moment's pause he added. 'Don't think me foolish.
I don't know how it is, I never ride out but I turn down this lane to look at that old tree.
I have a thousand recollections about it, and I always greet it as a familiar and well-
remembered friend. In the by-gone summer-time it was a friend indeed. Its leaves are
all off now, so you won't see it to advantage, for it is a glorious old fellow in summer, but
I like it full as well in winter-time.' These words were scarcely uttered, when my com-
panion cried out, ' There it is !' Near the tree stood an old man, with his coat off, sharp-
ening an axe. He was the occupant of the cottage. 'What do you intend doing?' asked
my friend, in great anxiety. 'What is that to you?' was the blunt reply. 'You are not
going to cut that tree down, surely ?' 'Yes, I am, though/ said the woodman. ' What
for?' inquired my companion, almost choked with emotion. 'What for? Why, because I
think proper to do so. What for ? I like that ! Well, I'll tell you what for. This tree
makes my dwelling unhealthy ; it stands too near the house. It renders us liable to fever-
and-ague. ' Who told you that ?' 'Dr. S .' ' Have you any other reason for wishing
it cut down ?' ' Yes, — I am getting old ; the woods are a great way off, and this tree is of
some value to me to burn.' He was soon convinced, however, that the story about the
fever-and-ague was a mere fiction, for there had never been a case of that disease in the
neighborhood ; and was then asked what the tree was worth for firewood. ' Why, when
it's down, about ten dollars.' ' Suppose I make you a present of that amount, will you let
it stand?' 'Yes.' 'You are sure of that?' 'Positive.' 'Then give me a bond to that
effect.' I drew it up, it was witnessed by his daughter, the money was paid, and we left
the place with an assurance from the young girl, who looked as srniling and beautiful as a
Hebe, that the tree should stand as long as she lived."
HENRY RUSSELL composed the appropriate melody, and the tree which the woodman
had spared was crowned with undying greenery. He says : " After I had sung the noble
ballad of 'Woodman, spare that tree,' at Boulogne, an old gentleman among the audience,
who was greatly moved by the simple and touching beauty of the words, rose and said,
' I beg your pardon, Mr. Eussell, but was the tree really spared ?' ' It was,' said I. ' I am
very glad to hear it,' said he, as he took his seat amidst the applause of the whole assem-
bly. I never saw such excitement in any concert-room."
v.j
or/,' FAMlLJAfi SOXGX
m
1. Wood - man, spare that tree!.
Touch not a sin - gle
bough;
In vouth it shel - tered me,.
And
hand,
That placed it near his cot,
There,
Thy &xe shall harm it not!
WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.
27
2D VERSE.
2. That old fa - mil - - lar tree,
- ry and re -
Are spread o'er land and sea,
i=E*S
wouldst thou hew it down?
Wood - man, for-bear thy
cx
H* •
J
|
a
•K
1
stroke ! .
Cut not its earth - bound ties;
Oh,
o— r
iq^ i PI^IJ^I i^*i^|ip^i^p -1^-1^-1^1^:
spare that a - - ged oak,.
Now tow'r - ing to the skies.
OUR FAMILIAR 6'O.NV;\.
8. When but an I - die boy.
I sought its grate - ful shade; In
all their gush - ing joy
K FT"*
y=^
Here, too, my sis - ters played; My
f i f laJ.^TT^p
- ther kissed me here;
My f:i - ther pressed my hand. For -
*
- give this fool - ish tear,.
But let that old oak stand.
4TH VERSE.
HHi
4. My heart-strings round thee cling,.
rJ~7 J i rtE^
Close as thy bark, old friend!
=?=3=j
Here shall the wild - bird sing, And still thy branch - es bend.
Old tree the storm shall brave, And wood - man. leave the spot; While
'•••£££
I've a hand to save,
Woodman, spare that tree !
Touch not a single bough ;
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now ;
'Twas my forefathers' hand,
That placed it near his cot,
There, woodman, let it stand,
Thy axe shall harm it not!
That old familiar tree,
Whose glory and renown,
Are spread o'er land and sea,
And would'st thou hew it down ?
Woodman, forbear thy stroke!
Cut not its earth-bound ties ;
Oh ! spare that aged oak,
Now towering to the skies.
Thy axe shall harm it not.
When but an idle boy,
I sought its grateful shade ;
In all their gushing joy,
Here, too, my sisters played ;
My mother kissed me here ;
My father piessed my hand,
Forgive this foolish tear,
But let that old oak stand!
My heart-strings round thee cling»
Close as thy bark, old friend !
Here shall the wild-bird sing,
And still thy branches bend.
Old tree the storm shall brave,
And, woodman, leave the spot ;
While I've a hand to save,
Thy axe shall harm it not.
WE HAVE LIVED AND LOVED TOGETHER. 99
WE HAVE LIVED AND LOVED TOGETHER.
THE words of this song are commonly attributed to Mrs. Norton, probably because it
was published about the time of her separation from her husband. But they were written
by CHARLES JEFFERYS, who found the melody on a scrap of paper that came home around
some groceries, and wrote the words to suit it. Neither he nor any of his musical friends
could tell where this melody was from; but years afterward, when Nicolo's "Joconde" was
revived in London, the long-sought origin of the air was found in that opera.
NICOLO (NICOLAS ISOUARD) was born in Malta in 1777. He completed his studies in
Naples, and when the French evacuated Italy, went with them, as private secretary to Gen-
eral Vaubois. The remainder of his life was devoted to musical art in Paris, where he died
in 1818.
A ndantino.
Is
1. "We have lived and loved
2. Like the leaves that fall
3. We have lived and loved
to - geth - -
a -round
to - geth - -
Thro' ma - ny chang - ing years,
In Au-tumn's fad - ing hours;
Thro' ma - ny chaug - ing years,
i — r^
B
14.-
shar'd each oth - er's glad
trai - tor smiles that dark
shar'd each oth - er's glad
ness, And wept each oth - er's tears...
en When the cloud of sor - row lowers,.
ness, And wept each oth - er's tears...
I have nev - er known a sor-row That was
And tho' ma - ny such we've known, love, Too
And let us hope, the fu-ture, As the
30
nrn FAMILIAR A'
Ral - len - Ian - do.
|QU _^^-^ — f
T— fn
— **—* •—
^ — ^ J\r^
H-ff.. rf-^Tm ^~
long un-sooth'd by
prone a - las! to
past has been, will
fc-f"p fTT-i
tli.-i- Thaf was
-4 '-Cj C ^= =t^ua=^
long un-sooth'd by thee,.... For thy
>rone a - las! to range,.. We
past has been, will be;.... I will
r& m i «I--"'"J ^ i
t,,. AX the
tT * *
Sp i J
H»
•1
-J •- ( E *
— ^ « ^ — — sj—
^ • ^ .*
!
* *
E$ * d J3
r r
EEE^HE:
^
smile can make a sum
both can speak of one,
share with thee thy sor
mer Where dark - ness else would be. . .
love, Whom time could nev - er clian.t.
rows, And thou thy joys with me..
For thy
\\Y
I will
smile ean innkc a sum .
both can npeak of one,
share with tliee thy wr .
. mer Where dark -ness else would
love, Whom time could uev - er
. rows, And thou thy joys with
be.
change.
WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER.
CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH SHERIDAN was one of three daughters of Thomas Sheri.
dan, son of Richard Brinsley Sheridan. She was born in 1808, and although her father died
when she was very young, her mother was enabled to give her daughters a superior educa-
tion, which she superintended with the greatest care. Caroline and her older sister, after-
ward Lady Dufferin, used to amuse themsHvrs by writing prow and verse for each other's
inspection, when they were very young. Before they were rwol ve years old, they had com-
WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER.
31
posed and illustrated two little volumes of poetry. At the age of nineteen, Caroline mar-
ried Hon. George Chappie Norton ; but her life proved so unhappy that she separated
from him. She devoted herself to writing, and much of her inspiration was drawn from
her sympathy with suffering in many forms. Public abuses and private wrongs moved her
kind heart and her ready pen. Her subjects are generally sad, but her nature was bright
and genial. Dr. Moir, in one of his lectures on the " Poetical literature of the past half-
century," said of Mrs. Norton: " Her ear for the modulation of verse is exquisite; and many
of her lyrics and songs carry in them the characteristics of the ancient Douglases, being
alike < tender and true.'" Mrs. Norton married Sir William Sterling Maxwell, March 1,
1877, and on June 15th, of the same'year, she died.
The music of " We have been friends together " is the composition of HENRY RUSSELL.
Andante.
1. We have
2. We have
3. We have
been friends to - geth - er,
been gay to - geth-er;
been sad to - geth-er;
In sun -shine and in
We laughed at lit - tie
We have wept with bit - ter
shade,
jests ;
tears,
f±
Since first, be-neath the chest -nut tree, In in - f an - cy we played.
For the fount of hope was gush - ing Warm and joy - ous in our breasts ;
O'er the grass-grown graves where slum - bered The hopes of ear' - ly years.
rmrn
-*—
k'
-^—^-
1 -i W
"D* W J
P I
(B5— M
1 J *
v ^
1 1
I * nJ
M J 1
532 *&
s • 9
•
j^ IN
J 1 J
J . J H8
*
-T " • w ^ J. J. A J. ~ 9 -\ *
But cold - ness dwells with - in thy heart, A cloud is on thy brow ;
But laugh - ter now hath fled thy lip, And sul - len glooms thy brow;
The voi - ces which are si - lent there Would bid thee clear thy brow;
^ • • . m • - _. ~ . ^« « • • .
^&-f~
— )•— — ^ —
r— P^
*f — r~"
*J— spj-^jS—
P ' ^g K E
H 1
^ * — b~
1 I t
-? — $ —
% fj
-1 — 1 v—
I/ ^ -^ k-<
Lj?J! J
We have been friends to
We have been gay to
We have been sad to
geth - er,—
geth - er, —
geth - er, —
Shall & light word part us
Shall a light word part us
O what shall part us
m
now?
now?
now?
32
OUR FAMILIAR SONQX.
OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT.
THOMAS MOORE'S well-known life began in a corner-grocery, on Angler street, Dublin,
May 28, 1779. His father carried on his traffic below stairs, while his mother, a woman of
more than ordinary intellect and lovableness, tended her handsome baby up-stairs. To the
close of her days she received the undiminished devotion of her gifted son, and when both
had died, four thousand letters from him were found among his mother's papers. Moore's
marriage to Miss Bessie Dyke, a young actress, was a happy one. Loved as he was, and
courts! by the great as he became, he used to say that no applause ever greeted his car
so pleasantly as that which was evoked by a young fellow, who planted himself on the
quay, in Dublin, and called out in fine brogue, Byron's dictum, " Three cheers for Tommy
Moore, the pote of all circles, and the darlint of his own." "The darlint" of all circles he
was also, and funny stories are told of his never-ceasing blunders regarding his invitations.
He was always popping in at my Lord's or my Lady's, on the days when he was not
expected.
Moore's eldest son proved a renegade ; his second son died young, and his only daugh-
ter met a tragic fate. She was kissing her hand down the stairs as her father was going
out to dine, when she fell over the balusters, and was killed. Moore was as tender-hearted
as he was genial and jovial, and after the death of his children he could never command
himself enough to sing in public. " Oft in the Stilly Night," he sang with entrancing ten-
derness. The song has been unmercifully parodied, and "fond memory" has been in-
voked to call up all manner of nightmares ; but the phrase is nevertheleless as beautful
as ever, and this remains a perfect poem and a perfect song. Moore died at his home,
Sloperton Cottage, Devizes, Wiltshire, February 25th, 1852.
m
^
1. Oft
2. When
in the still - y night, Ere slum - ber's chain has bound .
I re - mem - her all The friends so link'd to - geth -
^
ft* »
S
P
Fond mem - 'ry brings the light Of o-ther days a - round me. The
I've seen a - round me fall, Like leaves in win - try wea - - ther, I
&•?
OFT IN THE STILLY NIUH'l .
N h S
7~T^: iS
E?±
$
V-
smilcs, the tears, of boy - hood's years, The words of love then spo
feel like one who treads a - lone Some ban - quet hall de - sert
ken, The
ed, Whose
?^=^^
eyes that shone, now dimm'd and gone, The cheer - ful hearts now bro
lights are fled, whose gar - laud's dead, And all but he de - part
ken!
ed 1
Thus, in the still - y night, Ere slum - ber's chain has bound me
Sad mem - 'ry brings the light Of o - ther days a - round
-fe-
Oft in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Fond memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
The smiles, the tears, of boyhood's years,
The words of love then spoken,
The eyes that shone now dimmed and gone,
The cheerful hearts now broken !
When I remember all
The friends so linked together
I've seen around me fall,
Like leaves in wintry weather,
I feel like one who treads alone
Some banquet hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled, whose garlands dead,.
And all but he departed !
Cho. — Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me
Sad memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS
THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS.
"THE Light of Other Days" is said to have been the most popular song of its time in
England, and it was a great favorite in America. ALFRED BUNN, author of the words, was
born about 1790. His life was spent in London, where he was for several years manager of
Drury Lane Theatre. He published a volume of poems in 1816, a book called "The
Stage, both before and behind the Curtain," in 1840,and in 1853, " Old England and New
England," which records his impressions of and adventures in America. The excitement
concerning the spirit-rappings was then at its height, and Mr. Bunn visited a "circle,"
where he was told the following particulars, known only to himself,— that his mother's
name was Martha Charlotte, and that she died in Dublin, in 1833, at the age of seventy-
thrri'. Mr. Bunn being invited to lecture in Manchester, New Hampshire, in place of
Thfodore Parker, who was ill, gave an amusing talk, and when it was finished a gentleman
in the audience, who supposed himself listening to Parker, said: "Now, my friend, are
yon convinced T Here is a man ascending the pulpit, and, instead of delivering pure and
unmixed matter for the hearer's spiritual advantage, throws the congregation into horse-
laughter by talking about Shakespeare and the players." At a lecture delivered in New-
buryport, Bunn intended reciting the address to a skull, in "Hamlet," but on taking up the
one* furnished for the occasion, he discovered a sabre-cut on one side, and a bullet-hole on
the other. It was impossible to apostrophize such a riddled pate with " Why might not
this be the skull of a lawyer f" In life, it had been the thinking-apparatus of a soldier of
the Mexican war. Mr. Bunn's was a familiar name in the daily newspaper life of London,
forty years ago, and Punch used to take pleasure in a quiet smile at the slightly pompous
and self-important figure which he cut. He died about 1860.
Henry Phillips, in his " Musical and Personal Recollections during Half a Century,"
tells the story of this song: "Mr. Bunn had introduced to the English stage Madame
Malibran, who appeared in the ' Sonnambula,' and received one hundred guineas a night,
which sum, great as was her talent, she did not draw to the theatre. Notwithstanding
this, Mr. Bunn entered into a further engagement with her, and was very anxious to bring
her out in a new opera. He consulted me upon the occasion, and, amongst other things,
asked me if I thought Mr. Balfe had talent enough to write an opera for so great a vocalist.
My reply was, that I believed he had talent enough for anything. This settled the ques-
tion ; and a subject was immediately decided on, and the opera christened ' The Maid of
Artois.' Mr. Bunn wrote the libretto, which being handed over to Mr. Balfe, he com-
menced his music to it. All went on very well, till he conceived that beautiful recitative
and air, 'The light of other days is faded.' A happier thought never inspired his brain;
and on scoring it for the orchestra, an equally bright idea flashed across him, in giving the
solo and obligate to the cornet-a-piston, an instrument then new to the public, and produc-
ing a most charming and sympathetic effect. . . . When I rehearsed l The Light of
other days,' Madame Malibran, listening to it,' said, <• Oh, that is beautiful ! I must have
it in my part.' The composer, the dramatist, the manager, all assured her that it could
not be. « Don't tell me,' she said ; ' I shall speak to Phillips. He is good-natured, and I
am sure if he knows I prefer it in my character, he will let me have it.' Now, there is no
doubt but Mr. Phillips was very good-natured, and would have done almost anything to
oblige a lady, but he was too wise to part with so valuable a song as this, and therefore
very politely declined. She was greatly annoyed, and said she would not play in the
opera. Her name, however, having been announced, left her no possibility of escape.
Every rehearsal increased the effect of my song, until the night of performance arrived,
when my recitative and song was, like ' Farewell to the mountain,' most successful, and I
had to sing it three times.
LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS.
.15
." The success of the whole work was great, and at its termination we supped with Mr.
Balfe, at his lodgings in the Quadrant, and found there, assembled to meet us, many emi-
nent artists. Malibran had arrived before me. I rang at the street door, but as when that
was opened there was no light in the passage, I called out to the servant, to ascertain how
far I was to ascend, when Malibran, hearing my voice, ran to the top of the stairs, and said,
'Quick, quick, give rue a candle! — here is "The light of other days" coming up in th&
dark.'"
1 The light of o - ther days is fa
2. The leaf which au-tumn tem-pests with
ded, And all their glo - ries
er, The birds which then take
-. f .
5^t=
f- ~f
A tt tt i
h
,r^
jOGf
n
i ' P^ N-
,
li 1
X I J s» V IN
J
i* • J
i
J J J
ffh • * * i
I
1 J
j
• •? j
**\' m
J •
Iv •
eJ
J
— *
past, For grief with heav - y wing hath sha - -
wing, When win - ter's winds are past, come hith - •
?£% — l j i-J — T— F-J — ' — ! — r-* — ' — i — t — 3 — r-
- ded, The
- er, To
_J — ,^ l-J—j
gS— £ 1 J J
-^ — • — J_
^
•
— -•
/wA«ff it
r
f
[ ^-/ *|r y. \* ^**
V.
1 <-
3
*^_> "il ^» *^>.
1 •».
i
•^.
* * i
•
r r i
1
I
r^-S-*— ^'— ^ 1
\ « .
\=
-*-. tM^-v— t^-Z-
\t\^. f f. *f 1 H^--« *"• ^ * ,-),.,-.., ._.» ... ^ ,. 4 f-. r
hopes too bright to last; The world which morning's man - tie
wel - come back the spring; The ve - - ry i - vy on the
bp/ 1 1 1 J 1 1 1 Jn TH ^-F^T^I T ^3-i
pi?=^
I
£
P
=J
"•
— ^
»
--*= - r -^—
4
i — 4
9 f
• ,
^_ m. — _ —
t 1
-4
ir-
i 1
3!
:
L
p- -> '
* r
1 ^1
36
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS,
;^fc=^= =p- =*=?= E^T:=
•4s N-...
<ry-* — » • — * i"*n^ — *_
doud • - - ed, Shines forth ' with pur - - er ra
ru .... in In gloom - ful life dis - pi
Jf fftt W ^ 1 '— ~~3
— « — J_ — 1
ys, But the
iys, But the
I J I J || |^q
€L. ft — — g — 4 — j — — gj * 1 -9 •
! " J =j=*--i=
« parte.
fe^-* f " ll? ' L*-
LpV i j r ; h hi i i ^
_.
Cf-^jt^ J J J =i — ^
heart ne'er feelw, in sor - row shroud - - ed, The
heart a- lone sees no re - new - - - ing, The
light of oth - er
light of oth - er
X '** v » -^ 1 —
— j 4-9 — i — — ^ *~"^
Iff — ^7* * * -^ 5> — -^
— J ==:: — j — — =-* — i
\J *<
PP
' j j
1 •*- JL 1 A -t
Ui»+ If 0 1 * — m \ 9 W m
• , * « I
_ 9rt 91
— Sft-- — i« — — ft i* — — i« —
-H = 1
§
'days,
days,
ne'er feels, in sor - row shroud
a - lone sees no re - new •
- - ed, The
ing. The
j]
light of oth - or days,
light of oth - cr tla\>.
BREAK, BREAK, BREAK.
BREAK, BREAK, BREAK.
37
ALFEED TENNYSON, the first of living poets, is less known outside of his poetry, as a
man among men, than almost any of his professional brothers. How he looks and speaks,
what he loves and hates, what is his creed, religious or political, have not been revealed,
even to his own countrymen. Mr. James T. Field's lecture on him has afforded almost the
only glimpses we have of the huge and rather unkempt person, gruff manners, and egotis-
tical conversation, which make up a somewhat unattractive picture. Even the date of
Tennyson's birth, which took place in Somerby, Lincolnshire, where his father was rector,
seems to be in doubt, being given as 1809 or 1810. He was the third of twelve children,
and those who have heard Mr. Fields, will recall the amusing incident that reveals a
family trait. A bold hunter had bearded the lion in his den, and on being shown into
Tennyson's reception-room, saw a taciturn-looking gentleman sitting there, evidently at
home. Approaching him, the visitor said blandly, " Have I the great pleasure of beholding
Mr. Tennyson ? " The tall figure drew itself up at full length, and in a gloomy voice re-
plied, "I am not Alfred, — I am Septimus, the most morbid of them all." The perfect
lyric " Break, break, break," was written to commemorate the same event that called
forth •' In Memoriam," the death of the author's early friend, Arthur Henry Hallam, son
of the historian of the " Middle Ages." The lament was given its appropriate musical ex-
pression, in the melody composed by WILLIAM E. DEMPSTER, who set other lyrics of Ten-
nyson's which have become so well known, that a choice for this book was as difficult as
it was necessary. " The May Queen," and " Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel," will readily
recur. The music was dedicated to Mrs. Browning, — not the poetess, but an old and
valued friend of the composer';-, still residing at Aberdeen, Scotland. Mr. Dempster's
character was well calculated to call forth life-long friendships. Mrs. Browning writes,
" He was as amiable, kind, and warm-hearted a man as I ever knew, and his moral character
was unexceptionable."
/T / ' <3 rv
Gfe fc: e L
g *~^P— f-t
— - — S3 — ^H
^Z , 1
Break, break,
A* 1 1 1 1 .
/ 7T £ — f y "I "I" :
J-| ^ 1/— L
break, On thy
cold gray stones, O
<
M- j , i
^ — • — • i * \
— i * i £—
iw$ i" r r r
f r f \9
^_x I y
\ \ \
r f f f
m u L L
L L L m
r i ^r
A tt
rir
1 1
L/ *t i v |y
1 fV IV 1 ^MI
V 1
>ff 1 i '
1 1 ^^^^
tN - , v» « |
in~\ ^ 00
v 999 J J
C J Si 3 J J
Sea! And I \
n #
rould that my tongue could
— * 0 :
ut • ter The
Tf—
— 1 4_ — — -} _
_ 1 1 J
C(T) < • < <
~9 r\9 9 9j
?' * — - — # *- —
-f — f 1 — C —
•f- -f-
FT — r — r — r — 3
s-i — U — ^ — L — U
_v_ _- — ^_
— E
OUK F.\M1I.IMI SONQ8
r — P~
-f — r — p — r
— r
jg '
f
$ ,
oy»
T
* — *—
iat he
-1
— V U— f- tx
shouts with his sis - te
I -| j 1
i i i
U— |
r at
play!
— i — i — i
0
— 1 — 1
E/
* P
•—
^i i \
J
'i i i
• 1
**> —
L C
•
•
-F — F F — F
\ — * * m.
*
?fL r P
<*o >** A ^
r r r i* *
as L L L C.
i *^ r r
IV U *
BAi 1 K It 1 1
well for the sal - lor
lad, That he
sings in his boat ou the
jf ^ I 1 1
1 1 1 1
1 3
S) — T ^ ^ ^ —
— ^ ^ ^ ^ —
-i — i 1 — i 3
i* i* ^ i*
S^ — i —
-f— F — 1—\-
-f — f— -* — f—
* r *lr
1
bayl
Break, break, break,
Ou thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
r r r r
Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea !
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
O well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play !
O well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay !
Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea !
-T-T-
Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea !
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.
And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But, O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still !
Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea !
SONGS OF HOME.
If solid happiness we prize,
Within ourbreast this jewel lies,
And they are fools who roam ;
The world hath nothing to bestow, —
From our own selves our bliss must flow,
Jind that dear hut, our home.
—Nathaniel Cotton.
The fireside wisdom that enrings,
With light from heaven, familiar things.
— James Bussell Lowell.
SONGS OF HOME,
HOME, SWEET HOME.
THOUGH in later years JOHN HOWARD PAYNE became the "homeless bard of home,"
the home of his childhood must have been delightful. He was born in New York City,
June 9, 1792, and was one of a large group of brothers and sisters.
While he was a little fellow, his father moved to East Hampton, the most easterly town
in Long Island, situated upon its jutting southern fork. It was a romantic place, settled
by fine New England families, who lived in amicable relations with the red men that lin-
gered long and linger still about this ancient home of the Montauk tribe. Eev. Lyman
Beecher was preaching in the church upon the one wide village street, when Mr. Payne
went there to become principal of the Clinton Academy, then a flourishing school, one of
the earliest upon the island. In this town the little Paynes roamed among pleasures,
though not among palaces, and their home, which is still kept intact by the inhabitants of
the quaint old place, although "homely," indeed, to modern eyes, must have been quite
fine enough in its day. The Payne family held a high position, and the children had the
advantage of cultured society abroad as well as at home. The family moved to Boston,
where the father became an eminent teacher. John Howard was a leader in sports and
lessons too. He raised a little military company, which he once marched to general train-
ing, where Major-General Elliot extended a formal invitation to the gallant young captain,
who led his troop into the ranks to be reviewed with the veterans of the Eevolution.
Mr. Payne was a fine elocutionist, and in the " speaking," which formed a prominent
part of the school programme, his son, John Howard, soon excelled. Literary tastes
cropped out also, and he published boyish poems and sketches in the The Fly, a paper
edited by Samuel Woodworth.
When thirteen years old, Payne became clerk in a mercantile house in New York. He
secretly edited a little paper called the Thespian Mirror. Dr. Francis, in his " Old New
York," says of him at this period : " A more engaging youth could not be imagined ; he
won all hearts by the beauty of his person, his captivating address, the premature richness
of his mind, and his chaste and flowing utterance." A benevolent gentleman, who learned
the fact, and saw indications of great promise, sent young Payne to Union College at his
own expense. His career there was suddenly closed by the death of his mother and pecu-
niary losses of his father. He decided to try the stage in hopes of assisting the family,
and when seventeen years old he achieved a wonderful success as Young Norval, at the
Park Theatre, in New York. He then played in Philadelphia and Baltimore, and was act-
ing in his old home, Boston, when his father died. He soon sailed for England, antf ap-
peared in Drury Lane Theatre, when but twenty years of age. In 1826 he edited a London
dramatic paper, called The Opera Glass, and for twenty years he experienced more than
the ordinary mingling of pleasant and evil fortune. Payne was much praised, but on the
whole his life was sorrowful and hard. He wrote several successful dramas, and his tra-
gedy of "Brutus," which was written for Edmund Kean, is still played occasionally.
42 OUK FAM1L1AU SONGS.
While Charles Kemble was manager of Covent Garden Theatre, in 1823, he bought a quan-
tity of Payne's writings. Among them was a play entitled "Clari, the Maid of Milan.'*
Payne was almost starving in an attic in the Palais Royal, Paris, when at Kemble's request,
he altered this play into an opera, and introduced into it the words of « Home, Sweet
Home." It contained two stanzas— a third and fourth— which have since been dropped.
Miss Tree, elder sister of Mrs. Charles Kean, was the prima donna of the opera, and sang
the song. ' It won for her a wealthy husband, and enriched all who handled it, while the
author did not receive even the £25 which he reckoned as the share that this opera should
count in the £230 for which he sold his manuscripts. One hundred thousand copies of tin-
song were sold in a single year, and it brought the original publisher two thousand guineas
(over $10,000) within two years from its publication. Payne returned to this country in
1832, and nine years later he received the appointment of American Consul at Tunis.
The brief sketches of Payne's life in the usual sources of information are silent about any
removal from this office, but here are his own words : " How often have I been in the
heart of Paris, Berlin, London, or some other city, and have heard persons singing or hand-
organs playing ' Sweet Home/ without having a shilling to buy myself the next meal or a
place to lay my head ! The world has literally sung my song until every heart is familiar
with its melody, yet I have been a wanderer from my boyhood. My country has turned
me ruthlessly from office, and in my old age I have to submit to humiliation for my bread."
With due consideration for the sorrows of his career, we cannot forget that the carefully
educated youth forsook his old home and associations and voluntarily attached himself to
the fortunes of a class of literary adventurers who lived by their wits. He died at Tunis,
April 10, 1852. The singular antithesis between his fame and his fate has often been
pathetically dwelt upon, but never better expressed than by William H. C. Hosnier, in these
lines:
Unhappy Payne ! — no pleasure-grounds were thine,
With rustic seats o'ershadowed by the vine;
No children grouped around thy chair in glee,
Like blossoms dinging to the parent tree;
No wife to cheer thy mission upon earth,
And share thine hours of sorrow and of mirth,
Or greet thy coining with love's purest kiss —
Joy that survives the wreck of Eden's bliss.
Hands of the stranger, ring the mournful knell-
Homeless the bard who sang of home so well !
In 1883 Payne's remains were brought to the United States. They lay in state in New
York, and were then taken to Washington and entombed, with appropriate ceremonies.
The incident recalled to an old concert-goer a scene in that city in December, 1850,
when Jenny Lind sang " Home, Sweet Home," with Payne in a front seat.
Payne wrote two additional stanzas to " Home, Sweet Home" for an American lady in
London. They are unfamiliar, and unworthy of notice as poetry; but for that matter,
what can we say of the real merit of the original ? If we did not love it, we should laugh
at it. Here are the lines :
To us, in despite of the absence of years,
How sweet the remembrance of home still appears;
From allurements abroad, which but flatter the eye'.
The unsatisfied heart turns, and saya with a sigh,
Home, home, sweet, sweet home !
There's no place like home,
There's no place like home!
Your exile is blest with all fate can bestow ;
But mine has been checkered with many a woe !
Yet . tho' dim-rent our fortunes, our tho'ts are the same.
And both, as we think of Columbia, exclaim,
Home, home, sweet, sweet home !
There's no place like home,
There's no place like home !
Parke, in his « Musical Memoirs," says that the air to which « Home, Sweet Home" is
set, in from a German opera; but all other authorities agree iu calling it a Sicilian air
adapted by SIR HENRY ROWLEY BISHOP. Donizetti introduced a slightly altered form of
the air into his opera of -Anna Helena," at the suggestion of Madame Pasta, the celebrated
singer.
HOME, SWEET HOME.
'Mid pleas - ures and pal - a-ces though we may roam, Be it
ev - - er so hum - ble, there's no place like home!...
r n P
skies seems to hal - low us there,.... Which, seek.... thro' the world, is ne'er
m
^s
mot with else - where.
Home !
home ! sweet, sweet
' | * J * I * J *
Pf
i 1
iES3E±
home [There's no place like home There's no place like home!
i 1
^
i
^
44
'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home !
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met
with elsewhere.
Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home !
There's no place like home ; there's no place like
home.
An exile from home splendor dazzles in vain,
Oh ! give me my lowly, thatch'd cottage again ;
The birds singing gaily, that come at my call;
Cive me them, with the peace of mind, dearer
than all.
Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home !
There's no place like home ; there's no place like
home.
OUR FAMILIAR SONQS.
How sweet 'tis to sit 'neath a fond father's smile,
And the cares of a mother to soothe and beguile.
Let others delight 'mid new pleasures to roam,
But give me, oh! give me the pleasures of
home.
Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home !
But give me, oh! give me the pleasures of
home.
To thee I'll return, over-burdened with care.
The heart's dearest solace will smile on me
there ;
No more from that cottage again will I roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.
Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home !
There's no place like home ; there's no place like
home.
THE INGLE SIDE.
HEW AINSLIE, author of "The Ingle Side," was born April 5, 1792, in Ayrshire, Scot-
land, where his father, like those of some poets of loftier fame, managed the estates of a
nobleman. He was educated first by a private tutor, and then at a parish school. At the
age of seventeen he was sent to Glasgow to study law— which he heartily hated.
he obtained a clerkship in the General Register House in Edinburgh, and, later, became
amanuensis to Dugald Stewart, whose last writings he copied.
In 1822, Ainslie and his wife emigrated to the United States, to better their fortunes.
He bought a small farm in Rensselaer County, N. Y., but three years afterward he left it,
to try living with Robert Owen's community, at New Harmony, Indiana,— a year of which
thoroughly satisfied him. Next he formed a partnership with a company of brewers in
Cincinnati. Ho built a branch establishment in Louisville, which was swept away by a
flood, and another at New Albany, Indiana, which was destroyed by fire. He entered upou
no more ventures of his own, but employed himself in superintending the enterprises ot
more fortunate men, living for a time in Jersey City, N. J. From some sketchy writing of
his own, in a little volume of " Scottish Songs, Ballads, and Poems," which he published in
New York, I make the following extracts :
" In my fourteenth year I was taken from school on account of my health, and was
put into the fields to harden my constitution. Amongst my companions I found a number
of intelligent young men, who had got up, in a large granary, a private theatre, where they
occasionally performed, for the benefit of the neighborhood, 'The Gentle Shepherd/
« Douglas,' etc., and in due time I was, to my great joy, found tall enough, lassie-looking
enough, and flippant enough to take the part of the pert 'Jenny,' and the first relish I got
for anything like sentimental song, was from learning and singing the songs in that pas-
toral; auld ballads that my mother sung — and she sang many, and sang them well —
having been all the poetry I had cared for.
" It was toward the end of this most pleasant period that I first ' burst into song/ and
I am inclined to think that I broke into it wrong end foremost; sweet songs having sent
me a wooing, instead of wooing having set me a singing. Indeed, my planting companions
strove to convince me that my ' sweet songs ' were as silly as they were simple ; but I
braved both rhyme and reason, and kept scratching away. Well do I remember how I fell
THE INGLE SIDE. 45
in love with the sweet Jessie of one of my earliest lays. Being about my own age and size, she
used to loan me some of her 'braws' to busk me up for my parts, and instruct me how to
deport myself in gown and kirtle. Then her gentle hands would arrange my kerchief and fix
flowers in my cap, her pretty face bobbing, and her sweet breath blowing all the time about my
bewildered head, till, — how could I help it, Jessie? — I fell owre the lugs in love wr* thee."
Mr. Ainslie paid a visit to his native land, and, before returning, published a volume
entitled " A Pilgrimage to the Land of Burns." He spent the last years of his life in St.
Louis, where he died in March, 1878.
The music of " The Ingle Side " was composed by T. V. WIESENTHAL, a German music-
teacher, in Pennsylvania.
flr^H-H- t ! i — *•' ' J J J ^~ -p— rd — *-*rM —
-M — P—
EC \ 0 • j 00 0 tea 4 0 • L.
j
0*1 * 0
1. It's rare to see the morn-ing bleeze,Like a bonfire frae the sea, It's fair to see the
2. Glens may be gilt wi' gow-ans rare, The birds may fill the tree; And haughs hae a' the
f\. it/ ' N*
fm * j *• Am J J J
j j j
532 * * 0 \ 0 \ 0,0 0,0 0 \0 J 4 m \ * • J '
' » , *J
j j-^ * - -.j. * 0 rH j. • ~ 1%.* ..,.%_•- t- *
1 '
(*Y1 J J J i
VE£ *tt( * ~«£ — &— & ^ ^ "^ ^ i &
^
1 ^ ^ • "-
~^ '
f) tf P N i i n. * 1
J-
V "M- *0 • ~ aoztUT |fci P r * P 0 0 f"0 — -
I ^ |
/L 5 - r m fc ic ^*ij iif r^ !*••
_i r^ i
ffn! *JJ*_ppJJ * * * \ L ^ ^^
~0 •
^ J [ 0 *; 0 £ * 0 _ ^^J
9 \
gj 0' * & ~
burn - ie kiss The lip o' the flow-'ry lea; An' fine it is on green hill side, "Where
scent - edware, That sim-mer growth can gie : But the can-ty hearth where cronies meet, An'
/fo-5= 1 -Jr^ ^^^1 • i • i 1 i
"n
I ^\) J* *J* ^j*^; -j 'j*1 *j* J
) \J -0~ * -<*- * ~0~ 9
* *
f fe)"t J J ' - e& o
i
-«> —
^-$ 1 1 » t -p p -f1—
H
yftu. x« ,. Pir*»yi*' ^ • — - xNr
1C 1
^k tf j . W^ ^qB x — «j £-+- *- 1 r { ? J ^ j -A-
-i — — M
^— — ^-v J--ib- —v^ -^SH —0-4- *-+.
SH
i) ^ ^ ^ *
hums the bon - uy bee, But r air - er, fair - er, fin - er far, Is the In -pie side for
the darling o'oure'e, That makes to us a warl complete ; O the In-gle side's for
fJH} <J j?JJ ^J-P^J^v J ^ ,JJ J «
i
f<*)*5
•a
SS itp51 p^-|!?^'p
1 1 ^ ^ 1 1 1
f3
Ptt
\
**
\ |
jj. • ~ ™
• * — H
^— H
0 if ^ ji — — ~ — i s*
>K **# j gj • 1* 0—i * \ '^iPtfft^ \ —
f(T) 1 *^ I/ 1 1 1 ^•^••^ ^*^""^ i J ' • v
1
i
/•Vl; /d « 4 & n s>
2 II
& it ~ - — -f-r — — «— h- 3 H ^
EEiEdi
46
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
MY AIN FIRESIDE.
ELIZABETH HAMILTON, author of the words of "My Ain Fireside," was born in Belfast,
Ireland. Her noble Scottish ancestors had left their country on account of religious opin-
ions. Miss Hamilton's father died a year after her birth, leaving his widow destitute, with
three children. An aunt in Scotland took the little Elizabeth, and when, soon after, the
mother died also, permanently adopted her. The girl was carefully educated by this aunt
whose care she rewarded with the most faithful love. After the death of nearly all their
kindred, Miss Hamilton and her sister made their home in Edinburgh. Here Miss, — or,
as she was by courtesy entitled, Mrs. — Hamilton, received the attention and friendship
which she deserved, and which her then popular writings, — among them, the story of " The
Cottagers of Glenburuie," — naturally brought her. In youth, she formed an unfortunate
attachment, and she never married. In hope of recovering her health, she visited the
baths of Harrowgate, England, where she died in 1816.
At one time Mrs. Hamilton left her home, to take care of the motherless family of a
nobleman. She remained with them six months, and it was on returning to her own
hearthstone that she wrote the song, " My Ain Fireside."
A h
h
K Ps —
~K N ^— i
jf L* (\ f-
•
-•
— N R J
• m *
r • i* *
KO H M*
— f J-
J . / * 1
CJ-
-1 — 5— f — *-=— * — =
1. O I hae soen great anes and sat in great ha's, 'Mang lords and 'mang la - dies a'
2. Ancemair, heav'n be prais'd I roundmy ain heartsome in - gle, Wi' the friends o' my youth I cor-
3. Nae false - hood to dread, riae mal - ice to fear, But truth to de - "light me, and
Jrfir;r5 1 — — is — M — — J » *—. — —
m >
V
8
*
^==j=
£ «
«J
^
L:
— ; m
=1-
m
E
« «
F ^
« i*
&\bt
r-=i —
•
f
-^
-f— 1
*— —
r F—
iA>
r r
k
^ ; J p
-r-f
/
> •
!
— f—
* r —
f — f 1 1* • P — Gr~~
. g g -i
few w—. — <
K ••
,
— /-
cov - er*d wi' brawf : But a sight sae de - light - ful I trow I ne'er spied As the
dial - }y min - gle ; Nae forms to com - pel me to seem wae or glad. I may
friend -ship to cheer; O5 a' roads to hap - pi - ness ev - er were tried There's
bon - nio blvthe blink o' mv ain fire - side,
laii^h w)nn I'm HUT - ry, and sigh when I'm sad.
nane half sae sure as ane's ain fire -side;
v
My
My
ain fire - side,
ain fire - side,
ain fire - side,
my
my
my
MY AIN FIRESIDE,
47
ifek f8*"8 — *~ P ~&~
r— — R V -N-,
~r~- — w — j— -?* — :fl — ?-
-^ar-f* 1 n
am fire - side, O
ff E C J- ^— ^
sweet is the blink o' my
I-4--3 i •* J i
ain fire - side.
— -^3 — i — u
tx U
rr- — * C ff £ 1
^ • J — ,
-f— — f
i — p-^ P_,
i. j i ^JJ
&*•— — f p
4
? — M — H
r£ E ^— ti
- — r 1 — ' k — Lf £
The old air to which these words are sung ^
7 — F P=f 5 — F — u
ras called " Toddlin' Hame." Mrs. Hamil-
ton's original words read : —
O, I hae seen great anes, and sat in great ha's,
'Mang lords and 'mang ladies a' covered wi'
braws :
At feasts made for princes, wi' princes I've been,
Where the grand shine o' splendour has dazzled
my e'en ;
But a sight sae delightfu' I trow I ne'er spied,
As the bonnie, blythe blink o' my ain fireside.
My ain fireside, my ain fireside !
O, cheery's the blink o' my ain fireside !
My ain fireside, my ain fireside !
O, there's nought to compare wi' my ain
fireside !
Ance mair, Gude be praised, round my ain
heartsome ingle,
Wi' the friends o' my youth I cordially mingle ;
Nae forms to compel me to seem wae or glad —
I may laugh when I'm merry, and sigh when I'm
sad;
Nae falsehood to dread, and nae malice to fear,
But truth to delight me and friendship to cheer.
O' a' roads to happiness ever were tried,
There's nane half so sure as ane's ain fireside ;
My ain fireside, my ain fireside !
O, there's nought to compare wi' my ain
fireside !
When I draw in my stool on my cosy hearth
stane,
My heart loups sae light I scarce ken't for my
ain ;
Care's down on the wind, it is clean out of sight,
Past troubles they seem but as dreams o' the
night.
There but kind voices, kind faces I see,
And mark saf t affection glent fond frae ilk e'e ;
Nae fleechings o' flattery, nae boastings o' pride, —
'Tis heart speaks to heart at ane's ain fireside.
My ain ain fireside, my ain fireside !
O, there's nought to compare wi' ane's ain
fireside !
CASTLES IN THE AIR.
JAMES BALLANTINE, author of "Castles in the Air," was born in Edinburgh, June 11,
1808. His father, who was a brewer, died when James, his only son and youngest child,
was but ten years old. A common school education was all the boy could obtain, before
he felt that he must assist his mother and sisters. He was apprenticed to a house-painter,
but when he was twenty years old, attended the University of Edinburgh, to study anatomy.
He became interested in painting on glass, and a genuine revival of the beautiful art of
decorative glass-painting followed his efforts. The Royal Commissioners of the Fine Arts
awarded him their prize for the best specimens and designs for the painting of the windows
of the House of Lords, and the entire work was entrusted him. He published a popular
treatise on stained glass, a collection of his poems, and other works. He founded a large
establishment in Edinburgh, where the most elaborate stained-glass work is designed and
executed. His death took place in that city, December 18, 1877.
OUR FAMIL1AK
1. The bon - nie, bon - nie
2. He sees muc - klc
3. Sic a night in
bairn
cas
win
who sits pok - ing in the aes
ties-... tow - 'ring to the moon!
ter may weel mak' him cauld:
f
§
rtb — r- J J r
-^ f — r
~ft — -^ ^ N-
• «i
5 ^ — ri — £ ^
— 4 — p
fire wi' his
His chin up - on
A N
his buff - - y hand
will soon mak' him
an Id;
V \ --
..
ffrf9 • =1 — — =*—
^ =1 £ =*—
S s? P =1—
( =1
W— —• —
— •(— — -+-
— H
i * *
• •
\ — f f 1
•9- »-
-f-:
^v — =1 L =»—
— L =1 L =1—
\ 1 i f=^=j
1 r ; i i
[, 1
H? b 3
I ^
LiLJ 1
^
^ s 1
:- --i—
Laugh - ing :ii
the
mb-ling
brent
P T\
fuf - fin lowe,
up and <li >u ii.....
sac braid O
i — j . ^^ j . — <-
what.... sees he
bleez - ing wi' a
pray that dad - dy
J 1 r^"'^ 1
there?
flare, —
Care
His brow is
)° J ^ —
r=
F=;
^ r^
bus
*
F=
„
3
•
: -*
a
"i
^*^ -• n ^ -
» <
=
i J j=
9
—v
i i
i 1
^E^
Ha! the young.... dream -er's big - ging cas - ties in
>ow he loups! as they glim - mer in
Wad let the wean a . lane wi' his cas - ties in
the air. His
the air. For
the air. He'll
CASTLES IN THE AIR.
49
«
4=
-y
wee chub - by face, and his tou - zie cur - ly pow,
a' sae sage he looks, what can the lad -die ken?
glow - er at the fire! and he'll keek at the light!
Are
He's
But
i* J J
_P Is 1 J i 1
F ' *
J • « J «• J
IUJ ! , IX !, IX
u
• * * J
laugh - - - ing and
think" - ing up - on
mo - - - ny spark -
nod - ding
nae - thing, like
ling stars are
0
to the daiic - ing lowe : He'll
ino - ny might - y men; — A
swal - low'd up by night; Aul -
N \ <
_M 1 1 tf 1
1 jJ 1
frrv ^ — — —
**| i J
*1 m 1 J < 3 * "1
8 { <-j| — ;
^3^
±_^
< P '
(^*)* ^ ^r i 'i*")*
L/ | _/<*V
— » 5 • 5-4^ 5 1
\ ^^7 J "^ IrH^ •• ^^^
-^ 1 /!V- ^&
— F " H SI <H : ^
i u -?-i« — ;:
ZC5 F ' ff S
fisx J _.N _j^ » •
i ^^B^^^2 M ' * ' *
E2 * • » ^
3 * J * ' i
tr
brown his ro - sy
cheeks, and singe his sun - ny hair,
think a sma' thin0' mak's us stare, There are
der een than his
are glarn - - our - ed by a glare, Hearts are
L' I PC I
— K ^ Ki M^ K'
^T f) | ^ M
v ^ ^ • a M M
KjV- — -*-^^^^J- — r* ^^
^ ^^ — ^4^^^^
y
^ ±"^V
^r^i rrr >v>
/^^v* ^ 1 ™
• « r
V^V'* i •
r r
i ! ft III —
A .
V i m
it K 1 ^ N P S II
jjCg • • i* f j
i* r J^
r^h r PL "
m \ * ' * J
sSZ - 5 ix
1 * • • 1 * m ' \\
Glow - 'ring at the
imps wi' their cas - ties in the air.
bro - - - ken, heads
are tur'nd wi' cas - ties in the air.
/ X\y . ,_. j»— ^* '
1 J m - • * - • m \ P
1 \^\/ ^^_ 1^^^'^^
0 • • ^- *- » 1 SI • • II
/
P
x- — — — ^. ^ -= :
i r ^
-^- > ... £
K-: -^ — P3E
^— /ji A ^
i — ^^ — *~^ — — r i. i. — i — i i -"
(4)
90
OUll FAMILIAR SOM!S.
WIFE, CHILDREN, AND FRIENDS.
WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER, author of the following song, is a minor English poet.
whose writings are principally descriptive of various phases of elegant life. Every school-
girl has wept over his poem, " Beth-Gelert, the Good Greyhound." This song was widely
popular in American households during the early part of the present century.
Allegretto.
Arranged for this work by EDWARD S. CUMMINGS.
i=§
I. When the black - let - ter'd list to the gods was pn- - sont - ed, The
3:
•=m— =±
£=|j^Ej
3
-*-
,
«j s
* 1-
list of what Fate to each mor - tal in - tends, At the long string of ills a kind
*=f=%
=t*=;
II
f=fi
•« j i * • *
1
=?<— f — f — f ' t »z:I=f=g=:
:=Ij=^==g= — [? 9=^=1-^ Ej=^=
5=^5
^C - ff_ -
=j ^ ^it—
goddess re - lent - ed, And slipp'd in three blessings— wife, child - ren, and friends. In
^_^ZZ^=PV— ^— ?=s=*=
v«in, sur-ly Plu -to main - tained he was cheat -ed; For jus - tice dl - vine could not
WIFE, CHILDREN, AND FRIENDS.
5^
:fe
- pass its ends; The scheme of man's pen - ance, he swore, was de - feat-ed; For
m -
£
1
m
earth
be - came heav'n with wife, chil
dren,
and
friends.
When the black-lettered list to the gods was pre-
sented,—
The list of what Fate to each mortal intends, —
At the long string of ills, a kind goddess relented,
And slipped in three blessings : wife, children,
and friends.
In vain surly Pluto maintained he was cheated;
For justice divine could not compass its
ends ;
The scheme of Man's penance, he swore, was
defeated,
For earth became heaven with wife, children,
and friends.
The soldier, whose deeds live immortal in story,
Whom duty to far distant latitudes sends,
With transport would barter whole ages of
glory,
For one happy day with wife, children, and
friends.
Though valour still glows in his life's waning
embers,
The death-wounded tar who his colors defends
Drops a tear of regret, as he, dying, remembers,
How blessed was his home with wife, children,
and friends.
Though spice-breathing gales o'er his caravan
hover, —
Though round him Arabia's whole fragrance
ascends,
The merchant still thinks of the woodbines that
cover
The bower where he sat with wife, children,
and friends.
The day-spring of youth, still unclouded by sorrow,
Alone on itself for enjoyment depends :
But drear is the twilight of age, if it borrow
No warmth from the smiles of wife, children,
and friends.
Let the breath of renown ever freshen and nourish
The laurel which o'er her dead favorite bends;
O'er me wave the willow, and long may it flourish,
Bedewed with the tears of wife, children, and
friends.
Let us drink, — for my song, growing graver and
graver,
To subjects too solemn insensibly tends ;
Let us drink, pledge me high, — love and virtue
shall flavor
The glass which I fill to wife, children, and
friends.
62 OUK FAMILIAR SONGS.
THE WOODPECKER.
THIS ballad was written by THOMAS MOORE, during his travels in America, MICHAKL
KELLY, who composed the music, was the son of a wine-merchant, in Mary street, Dublin,
who was for many years master of ceremonies at the vice-regal castle. Michael was born
in 1762. While very young, he showed great musical capacity, both as singer and player,
and his father procured him the best musical advantages within his reach. It happened
that the very best were embodied in the person of an Italian, who loved the merchant's
wine as much as his boy's musical talent; and Michael relates, that many a night he was
krpr up until midnight before the professor was in a condition to give him the lessons by
which he profited too much to lose. He was sent to Naples, and he tells in his "Reminis-
cences," that his father had a piano made' for him, as pianos were scarce and high, espe-
cially in Italy. The journey took place during our Revolution, and although he was on
board a neutral vessel, she was boarded by an American privateer. He says : " A sturdy
ruffian began to break open my piano-case with a hatchet, which, when I saw, I manfully
began to weep and cry out, 'Oh ! my dear piano !' The cabin-boy, who was about my own
age, called out, ' For God's sake, don't cry, Master Kelly!' The chief mate of the privateer.
who was quietly perusing some of our captain's papers, on hearing these words, turned
round, and looking steadfastly at me, said, 'Is your name Kelly?' I answered 'yes.' 'Do
you know anything of a Mr. Thomas Kelly, of Mary street, Dublin?' said he. 'He is my
father,' was my reply. The young man immediately started up, and, with tears in his
eyes, said, ' Don't you remember me? I am Jack Cunningham, who, when you were a little
boy, nursed you and played with you ?' " The piano was spared, but his Italian master
would not allow him to use it, as it was thought to spoil the voice. Tears afterward.
Kelly was sitting near Lord Nelson, at Lady Hamilton's, when Lord Nelson said, '-Mr.
Kelly, I have often heard your old master speak of you with great affection, though he said
you were as wild as a colt. He mentioned, also, your having given him your piano-forte,
which, he said, nothing should induce him to part with."
Sir William Hamilton, the British Minister at Naples, assisted in procuring for him the
best musical advantages, and as a tenor-singer, Kelly made a successful tour of the conti-
nent. In Vienna, he formed a close intimacy with Mozart, and he was for some time in the
service of the Emperor Joseph. His first appearance in London was in 1787, at Drury Lane,
where he held the position of first singer and musical manager, until he left the stage. He
began the composition of music in 1797, and wrote upwards of sixty pieces, most of which
were successful. The airs in Colman's "Blubeard" are Kelly's. His "Reminiscences"
appeared a few months before his death, which took place in 1826. They were written by
Theodore Hook, from Kelly's rough material.
/
I knew by the smoke that BO grace - f ul - ly curl'd A-bove the green elms, that a
THE WOODPECKER.
cot - tage was near, And I said " if there's peace to be found in the world, A
heart that was hum-ble might hope for it here, The heart that washum-ble might
hope for it here!" Ev-'ry leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound, But the
wood - peck- er tap-ping the hoi -low beech tree, Ev-'ry leaf was at rest, and I
-N \
tempo.
--
g g r
v
3=£
r
heard not a sound, Ev - 'ry leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound,
"^ — /TV
4^
But the
or/; f.t w/./.i/.1 MAV/.V
.*,
w ..... |-,Mck-er tap-ping the hoi-low beech tree, But the wood -peck- er tap-ping the
hollow beech tree, The woodpecker tapping the hoi-low beech tree
" And here in this lone lit - tie wood," I exclaim'd,"With a maid who was love - ly to
rftt at^ TSj
-t
n
soul and to eye, Who would blush when I prais'd her, and weep if I blam'd, How
y l s.
ad lib.
m
bleat could I live, and how calm could I diel How blest could I live, and how
F ^^ ^~ -*-+-
THE WOODPECKER.
55
calm could I die. Ev-'ry leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound, But the
g g
tempo.
v y ^ y y y v l v y ^— — BL__KJ z ~ ~
tJ wood - peck- er tap-ping the hoi- low beech tree; Ev-'ry leaf was at rest, and I
heard not a sound, Ev - 'ry leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound, But the
wood-peck-er tap-ping the hoi-low beech tree, But the wood -peck- er tap-ping the
hollow beech tree, The woodpecker tapping the hollow beech tree.
( Opening ofM Stanza :)
It was noon, and on flowers that languished around,
In silence reposed the voluptuous pee ;
Every leaf, &c.
(Last Stanza :)
By the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry dips
In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to recline,
And to know that I sighed upon innocent lips,
Which had never been sighed on by any but mine.
on; FAMILIAR SONGS.
On
RAIN ON THE ROOF.
COATES KINNEY, author of "Rain on the Roof," was bora in Y^tes County, N. Y,
November 24 1826. He obtained a liberal education, and has been a teacher, an editor, and
a lawyer. During the war, he was a paymaster in the national army, and at its close he
lefl the service with the brevet of lieutenant-colonel. He was editor and proprietor of the
Xmisi, 0., Torch 1 i <i lit, in 1865-7, and editor-in-chief of the Cincinnati Times in 1868, and is
mm- practicing law in Xenia. He has published a small volume of poems.
Mr. Kinury givrs this arroiint of the origin of the song: "The verses were written
when 1 was about twenty years of agr, as nearly as I can remember. They were inspired
close to the rafters of a little stoiy-and-a-half frame house. The language, as first pub-
lished, was not composed, — it came. I had just a little more to do with it than I had with
the coming of the rain. The poem, in its entirety, came and asked me to put it down,
the next afternoon, in the course of a solitary and aimless squandering of a young man's
precious time along a no-whither road through a summer wood. Every word of it is a
fact, and was a tremendous heart-throb."
The verses were sent to Emerson Bennett, at that time editor of The Columbian, a,
Cincinnati, who threw them aside, as not being quite up to the Columbian's standard !
A few days later, the publisher of the paper, Mr. Penrose Jones, rummaging in the drawers
of rejected manuscripts, came across Mr. Kinney's, and, holding it up, wanted to know
" What the dickens do you mean, Mr. Bennett, by putting this in here?" The next day it
went into print in the Columbian, and immediately afterward, to the surprise and disgust
of Mr. Bennett, it went all over the world. These words have been set to music by
various composers. We give here the version of JAMES G. CLARK.
1. When the hu - mid sha-dows ho- ver O - ver all the star - ry spheres, And the
HP
spheres, And the
mel - an - cho - ly dark - ness Gent - ly weeps in rain - y tears, What a
--H^a
m
q
BAIN ON THE ROOF.
ad lib.
s2i|2=:?:
lis - ten to the pat - ter Of the soft rain o
ver-head !
colla voce.
-\ ~ TJ~
:£^SE
CHORUS,
Hear it pat - ter, tin - kle, mur - mur, as
Hear it pat - ter, pat - ter, tin -kle, tin- kle, mur - mur, as
— ^~ ^-—r — &—— t t—Vj '^j—^J— -^r— -*i— t — 'j : h— hr-—
— > y — j- — v — > — > — ^ ^ — v — ^ — 1»< — j- — ^- ix ^ —
Hear it pat - ter, pat - ter, tin -kle, tin -kle, mur - mur, as it
/T\
8va r
SitjElE ^~£=^»==£^==t^=^=|=£=*= =1— ==;=t=,;=
' ~— * '" ' J L T . __ !!• ' I I N II ' J
m
falls up - on the roof,
Hear it pat -ter,
Or
_ i '
tin - kle,
— N >S N >S—.
falls up - on the roof,
Hear it pat -ter, pat -ter, tin -kle, tin - kle,
falls up - on the roof, Hear it pat -ter, pat -ter, tin -kle, tin -kle.
' .f"^ S~f f ? -f '* " $ F^
3 — •> nutzS us Bt3ij5
-S — v
<??yfl r.v
— ; . •—? — * . * •
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
rjbJi^
t
_T_J
--
_j 4_]
—p-
•-f
~T<~
-?hr '3
"Hi
P*E£=
-g g •'-
=lz*-z:
0 -
»-• • *-\
^
— J-
-*-T-
*5E 1
:HJ
mur - mur, as
falls.
up-oa the roof.
JL U 1 «
-2
— t fe^ -fa-
t-fl
Br ^ ^ «^ *• 5 —
. . up-on the roof. •
,__M
... /^
^t> — « is p——g—
-p — -f-h — -fs-*—
i J i>
-*•
-J-: J * . •
.-- -#-
When the humid shadows hover
Over all the starry spheres
And the melancholy darkness
Gently weeps in rainy tears,
What a bliss to press the pillow
Of a cottage-chamber bed
And to listen to the patter
Of the soft rain overhead !
Every tinkle on the shingles
Has an echo in the heart ;
And a thousand dreamy fancies
Into busy being start,
And a thousand recollections
Weave their air-threads into woof,
As I listen to the patter
Of the rain upon the roof.
Now in memory comes my mother,
As she used, long years agone,
To regard the darling dreamers
Ere she left them till the dawn :
O ! I see her leaning o'er me,
As I list to this refrain
Which is played upon the shingles
By the patter of the rain.
Then my little seraph sister,
With her wings and waving hair,
And her star-eyed cherub brother —
A serene angelic pair ! —
Glide around my wakeful pillow,
With their praise or mild reproof,
As I listen to the murmur
Of the soft rain on the roof.
And another comes, to thrill me
With her eyes' delicious blue;
And I mind not, musing on her,
That her heart was all untrue:
I remember but to love her
With a passion kin to pain,
And my heart's quick pulses vibrate
To the patter of the rain.
Art hath naught of tone or cadence
That can work with such a spell
In the soul's mysterious fountains,
Whence the tears of rapture well,
As that melody of Nature,
That subdued, subduing strain
Which is played upon the shingles
By the patter of the rain.
THE BO AT IE BOWS. 49
THE BOATIE ROWS.
BURNS says the author of the words of this song was Joiix EWEN, who was born at
Montrose, Scotland, in 1741, and died at Aberdeen, which had been his home for many
years, October 21, 1821. The air. has had many variations, but the one in present use is
the original.
1. O weel may the boat - ie row, And bet-ter may she speed;
i=i
<3
5 •' 2
weel may the boat -ie row, That wins the bairns' bread. The boat-ie rows, the
3T3 ; IJ
33*3
boat-ie rows, The boat - ie rows f u' weel; And muckle luck at - tend the boat, The
9 \9 \9 J-
J |J J !J
=£T3=
TT3:
3^3
^
OUS FAMILIAR HONGS.
8
* =*-
niiir - Ian and the creel
m.
I cuist my line in Largo Bay,
And fishes I caught nine ;
They're three to roast, and three to boil,
And three to bait the line.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows indeed;
And happy be the lot of a'
That wish the boatie speed.
O weel may the boatie row
That fills a heavy creel,
And cleads us a' frae head to feet,
And buys our parritch meal.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows indeed ;
And happy be the lot of a'
That wish the boatie speed.
When Jamie vowed he wad be mine,
And wan frae me my heart
O muckle lighter grew my creel !
He swore we'd never part.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows fu' weel ;
And muckle lighter is the lade
When love bears up the creel.
My kurtch I put upon my head,
And dressed myseP fu' braw,
I trow my heart was dowf and wae
When Jamie gaed awa'.
But weel may the boatie row,
And lucky be her part ;
And lightsome be the lassie's care
That yields an honest heart.
When Sawnie, Jock, and Janette
Are up, and gotten lear,
They'll help to gar the boatie row,
And lighten a' our care.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows fu' weel ;
And lightsome be the heart that bears
The murlan and the creel.
When we are auld and sair bowed down,,
And kirplin at the door,
They'll row to keep us dry and warm,
As we did them before :
Then weel may the boatie row
That wins the bairn's breed,
And happy be the lot of a'
That wish the boatie speed.
O SWIFTLY GLIDES THE BONNIE BOAT!
JOANNA BAILLIE, author of the words of the following song, was born in BothwelL
Lanarkshire, Scotland, September 11, 1762. She spent her early years on the romantic
the Clyde, and was noted in the country-side for her activity and courage in out-
One day, she and her brother were riding double on a horse, when the animal
the brother, but oould not unseat the sister, and a farmer in amazement
claimed, "Look at Miss Jack ! She sits her horse as if it were a bit of herself." Sh« was
nee telling Lucy Aikin that at nine she could not read plainly, when her sister checked
er, an.1 mid, "At nine? Joanna, you could not read well at eleven." Joanna was sent
O SWIFTLY GLIDES THE BONNIE BOAT!
61
to boarding-school, and there became famous as a story-teller. Her tales would draw
alternate tears and laughter from the schoolgirls. She also established a kind of private
theatricals, in which she was playwright, costumer, scene-shifter, and principal actor.
When she was about fifteen, her father became Professor of Divinity in Glasgow Univer-
sity. After his death, Dr. William Hunter, a bachelor uncle, settled the family upon a
small estate in Lanarkshire. Here Joanna learned the writings of the British dramatists,
especially Shakespeare, almost by heart, although she was not a wide reader, and here she
wrote some Scottish songs, and adapted them to old melodies. The death of the uncle
caused the family to remove to London, where Joanna's brother was a physician of distinc-
tion. There, in 1790, she published a volume of miscellaneous poems, which was not suc-
cessful. Soon after, the conception of her first drama flashed into her mind, and with it
the belief that she had found her true mode of expression. Her plays found favor slowly ;
and finally one of them, " J)e Montfort," was acted at Drury Lane, by John Kemble and Mrs.
Siddous, but their genius could not supply the lack of incident. She afterward wrote a
tragedy, entitled " A Family Legend," which was acted in Edinburgh, with a prologue by
Scott, an epilogue by Mackenzie, and Mrs. Siddons and Terry in the cast. It was favorably
received through ten performances, and Sir Walter, writing to Miss Baillie about it, said :
" You have only to imagine all you could wish, to give success to a play, and your concep-
tions will still fall short of the complete and decided triumph of the ' Family Legend.'
The house was crowded to a most extraordinary degree; many people had come from your
native capital of the west ; everything that pretended to distinction, whether from rank or
literature, was in the boxes ; and in the pit, such an aggregate mass of humanity as I have
seldom, if ever, witnessed in the same space." But Miss Baillie's plays, although pleasant
dramatic poems, had not incident and action enough to keep the stage. Each play deline-
ated a single passion of the human soul.
She is described as a woman who would have been attractive even if she had had
no reputation. She was religious and benevolent, and all the nobler virtues shone forth
through an intelligent and pleasant face. Most of her songs occur in her plays. She lived
quietly in Hempstead, for many years after all her friends were gone. In one of her later
letters, she writes : " For me, the walking through our churchyard is no unpleasant thing ;
it cannot extinguish the lights beaming from the promised house in which are many rnan-
.sions." She died, February 23, 1851.
The words of Miss Baillie's song, " 0 swiftly glides the bonnie boat," were probably
adapted to the old Scottish melody by the author herself.
Allegretto Siciliano.
1. 0 swift - ly glides the bon - nie boat, Just part - ed from the shore, And
2. The mer - maid on her rock may sing, The witch may wave her charm ; Nor
i~~~~~ . ~fr ^^^T
- •*« — J-^^~ ' =5= "~f« ^ — •*
3. Now safe ar- rived on shore, we meet Our friends with hap - py cheer; And
-? — 3 — . — *; — »J
crN=rfe:
or/,1 r.\Ml/.IAR SONGS.
mf
to the fish- ers' cho - rus note, Soft moves the dip -ping oar; These
\va - ter - sprite nor el - drich thing The bon - nie boat can harm. It
*E^^f^£E£E£ EiEE^EE =jEE$= E$E^=
* • 9 9 -*• •*•
nth the fish - ers' cho - rus greet All those we hold most dear; With
f •
f
i=r
3 IE
— H-
=|
B
£
^=F
— i^—
— * —
— i-v —
__yl ^
-J-4-
~ N-T
^
toils are borne with hap - py cheer, And ev - er may they speed ; That
safe - ly bears its sea - ly store Thro' many a storm - y g:ile ; While
^~E^E=E=EE=E=I~Z~Z^z-^R=E^E
hap - py cheer the echo - ing cove Re - peats the chant - ed note ; As
J~ ~fr ~fr "*~T fr "t> r>~~ T^^i m " ~N
F*-
_€.
* — r ^ — — ^ — — R~"i —
E£;E3E3EE£|3EaEE3E
fee - ble age and help - mate dear, And ten - der hair - nies feed. We
joy - ful shouts rise from the shore, Its home - ward prow to hail. We
1
home-ward to our cot we move, Our bon - nie, bon - nie boat. We
> .£ K_ _!_ . _1_
.-• =2:
— f— :r-f-± » — •— — »^f^
=J=
cast our lines in Lar - go Bay, Our nets are float -ing wide;
Our
our lines in Lar - go Bay, Our nets are float - ing
-*» K
-*-7
$-1 -*_• — y »_ njfziiri<z= z^— ~: fr ]—
^EJ=^^=iE ^
O H WIFTLY GLIDES THE BONNIE BOAT.
bon - nie boat, with yield - ing sway, rocks light -ly on the tide;
And
bon - nie boat, with yield - ing sway, rocks light - ly on the tide;
And
5b=£=£pi± =6=
f •— — r r— T — I zfciq
&=*=*E^ EEEJEJ
»_q — 0-± f 0 0 — i:
-pgE==tj=ztz 1^4:
r — I — ^ ^ ^ ^ .L_
P
hap - py prove our dai - ly lot, Up - on the sum • mer sea,
And
hap - py prove our dai - ly
:*=*=^J=£
3(
the sum - mer sea,
-s I
And
.S
O swiftly glides the bonnie boat,
Just parted from the shore,
And to the fishers' chorus-note,
Soft moves the dipping oar :
These toils are borne with happy cheer,
And ever may they speed !
That feeble age and helpmate dear,
And tender bairnies feed.
The mermaid on her rock may sing,
The witch may wave her charm ; —
Nor water-sprite, nor eldrich thing
The bonnie boat can harm.
It safely bears its scaly store
Through many a stormy gale ;
While joyful shouts rise from the shore,
Its homeward prow to hail
Now, safe arrived on shore, we meet
Our friends with happy cheer ;
And with the fishers' chorus greet
All those we hold most dear ;
With happy cheer the echoing cove
Repeats the chanted note ;
As homeward to our cot we move
Our bonnie, bonnie boat.
Cho — We cast our lines in Largo Bay,
Our nets are floating wide ;
Our bonnie boat, with yielding sway,
Rocks lightly on the tide ;
And happy prove our daily lot,
Upon the summer sea,
And blest on land our kindly cot,
Where all our treasures be.
FAMILIAR oOJV6^.
•>*
MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME.
THIS song is the twentieth of STEPHEN C. FOSTER'S "Plantation Melodies." 1 do not
know that it is true, but I cannot help feeling that it was the intrinsic beauty and merit of
these songs that lifted the Christy Minstrels from the low position usually occupied by such
troupes to something like that of a respectable concert-room, both in this country and in
England. Foster caught his idea of writing his, so-called, negro melodies from listening to
the absurdities then in vogue with the burnt-cork gentry. He walked home from one of
their concerts in Baltimore, with the banjo strains ringing in his ears, and before he slept
he had composed the ridiculous words and taking air called "Camptown Races," with its
chorus of " Du-da, du-da, da." He passed from one finer tone to another, until he reached
the perfection of simple pathos in " Old Folks at Home," " Massu's in the cold, cold
ground," " 0, Boys, carry me 'long," and " My Old Kentucky Home." The music is his
own.
By special permission of William A. Pond & Co.
Poco Adagio.
The sun shines bright in the old Kentuck - y home,
igi
"^~I~ — . ^ ZL ^
>Tis summer,
darkies are
-t
&
:?(v ,
•tf>T-
gay;
The corn top's ripe and the meadow's in the bloom, While the birds make music all the
- — Rl —
' ' '
3 — • — i — i~
i -i
— i
t
1
i 1 1
npj , -s i J J j "f ••> r " <• f
W * 1- * e +-£ £ ^ tX j — — \- — -(
da.v- The young folks roll on the lit - tie cab - in floor, All
^Li=HH-r^=^
E±=S^
*"• *• — <5^i • _
- 1 . =fc : -\
MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME.
**— ^_ *-^g=«=: E$EE5=f=3=^Ei=E ES E3E =J=. ==F=T:::3?
F-+;— *~£1-=3- =3^— M- -- 3— g— ^ —3-4-*=
knocking at the door, Then, my old Kentuck - y home,
— * — 0 * — — • ~^i S—
« ^ L j
good night !
-i-
zzzf:
-27-
~ j
Wee.p no more, my la - dy,
i »_. •*• ' •*• -
P
Oh! weep no more to - day!
We will
g=£EB
I
_ T j ~\ __ . _ T' j _ nz t _
^q
=2?:
-- 1- £
j -^-^r^=^H_— -f— |— -T«— r:p7= ==i3
g=^^^^^^^
» . ^r-r-ji— * — * — * * — P-L-^-.—
sing one song for the old Kentuck-y home, For the old Kentuck -y home, far a-w.ay.
/^N
^ *-
'S 9 y v >
^r<
S^^3^E3|^3=
\_ A ^ — — i * — ,^O_
T-~ — V ^ ^ T^ ^ G^"-
-*— r~ ^~ ~^ — -r
I
fe^
(ii
-i-
:E:
i
:|PB
• ~__, IT.
:=~ ^ M
2d. Verse.
E,=ig=^=^pgSE^=p^^^g3^i^£
They hunt no more for the possum and the coon, On the meadow, the hill, and the
dfct
shore, They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon, On the bench by the old cab - in
"S-T 1 1 ; S S-r- -__« »_-= =-g--j
dooi .
The day goes by like a sha - dow o'er the heart, With
t>6
OUR FAMILIAR A'O.\V,',s
sor - row where all was de - light;
^N
The time has come when the
— i i »—
^~ * ~* *
_V ^ * — — ' * —
dar-kieshave to part, Then my old Kentuck - y home, good -night! CHORUS.
3d. Verse.
The head must bow and the back will have to bend, Wherev - er the dark-ey may
go; A few more days, and the trouble all will end In the field where the BU - gar-canes
mat-ter, 'twill \v s - r be light,
A few more days till we
tot-ter on the road, Then, my old Kentuck- y home, good night!
CHORUS.
TAK' YER AULD CLOAK ABOUT YE.
THIS song, in its present form, was first printed in Allan Ramsay's " Tea-Table Miscel-
lany," in 1724, but its origin cannot bs settled beyond a doubt. It is greatly in favor of a
Scottish paternity that Bishop Percy admits such a probability, although he inserts in his
"Reliques of Ancient Poetry" an extra stanzt found by him in a copy of the song written
in old English. This stanza, the second in the version following, introduces the dialogue
which forms the peculiarity and the spiciness of thb poem. The song was known in Eng-
land in Shakespeare's time. lago, in the drinking scene- in the second act of " Othello,"
delights the company with —
" King Stephen was a worthy peer,
HIM breeches cost him but a crown,
He held them sixpence all too dear;
With that he called the tailor clown.
He was a wight of high renown,
And thou art but of low degree ;
TU pride that, mills the country down,
Then take thine auia woak about thee."
The air is known to be much older than the words,— indeed, it is conced / a great
antiquity.
Marcato.
TAK' YEE AULD CLOAK ABOUT YE.
Quasi Recit.
67
E^E
:i
--M-.
In win - ter, when the rain raiu'd cauld, And
si_u_i =^=:f :=: 2_*_i: p5__,_: _A_ :_s
^=£^=t::=: -*L=sit3z7=:
E J0.V 1 L_€ f — II 1 — ^
frost and snaw on il -kahili, And Boreas, with his blast sae bauld, "Was threat'nin' a' our
EfeE ^
N ^-4- V — I S-f S — I S-T H--; • — -T 7— a — » H — =-
- — :S— | ^— p^-T-1^— I ^~I~^~ ^ - - '^~' ~>'~ 0^*~f~ *~f"f *~ ^ ~
kye to kill, Then, Bell, my wife, wha lo'es nae strife, She said tome, right has - ti - ly, "Get
EIE
— — =
up, guidman, save Crummie's life, And tak' your auld cloak a - bout ye."
Ej=E^s^^aggE£=* _\S* I f]
-%— =t:±Ss-i=== {^^-^
t
-r*1 — i — B~F-i — ^*-T-
•S^^ZE^iS*
In winter, when the rain rained cauld,
And frost and snaw on ilka hill,
And Boreas, with his blast sae bauld,
Was threat'nin' a' our kye to kill,
Then Bell, my wife, wha lo'es nae strife,
She said to me, right hastily,
" Get up, guidman, save Crummie's life,
And tak' your auld cloak about ye."
"O Bell, why dost thou flyte and scorne?
Thou kenst my cloak is very thin;
It is so bare and overworne,
A cricke he thereon cannot renn.
Then I'll no longer borrow or lend —
For once I'll new-apparelled be;
To-morrow I'll to town, and spend,
For I'll have a new cloake about me.
OUR FAMILIAR X
"My Crummie is a usefu' cow,
And has come of a good kin' ;
Aft has she wet the bairns' mou',
And I am laith that she should tyne.
Get up, guidman, it is fu' time,
The sun shines in the lift sae hie ;
Sloth never made a gracious end,
Gae tak' your auld cloak about ye."
" My cloak was ance a guid grey cloak,
When it was fitting for my wear;
But now it's scantly worth a groat,
For I hae worn't this thretty year.
Let's spend the gear that we hae won,
We little ken the day we'll dee ;
Then I'll be proud, for I hae sworn
To hae a new cloak about me."
" In days when guid King Robert ran,
His trews they cost but half-a-crown ;
He said they were a groat owre dear,
And ca'd the tailor thief an' loon.
He was the King that wore the crown,
And thou'rt a man o' low degree ;
'Tis pride puts a' the country doun,
Sae tak' your auld cloak about ye."
" Ilka land has its ain laucli. [law]
Ilk kind o' corn has its ain hool;
I think the warld is a' gane wrang,
When ilka wife her man wad rule.
Do ye no see Rob, Jock, and Hab,
How they are girded gallantlie,
While I sit hurklin in the asse?
I'll hae a new cloak about me."
" Guidman, I wat it's thretty year,
Sin' we did ane anither ken;
And we hae had atween us twa,
O' lads and bonnie lasses ten.
Now they are women grown and men,
I wish and pray weel may they be ;
And if ye prove a guid husband,
E'n tak' your auld cloak about ye."
" Bell, my wife, she lo'es nae strife,
But she wad guide me, if she can ;
And to maintain an easy life
I aft maun yield, tho' I'm guidman.
Nought's to be gain'd at women's han'
Unless ye gie them a' the plea;
Then I'll leave aff where I began,
And tak' my auld cloak about me."
DO THEY MISS ME AT HOME?
FOE the music of this pleasant little song we are indebted to MR. S. M. GRANNTS.
Dolce Legato.
3 EgEjE
._ «-_— «_«,— — 0—
1. Do they miss me at home, Do they miss me?
2. When twi - light approach - es, the sea - son
3. Do thoy sot me a chair near the ta - ble,
4. Do they miss me at home, Do they miss me
Twoukl be an as - sur - ance most
That ev - er is sa - cred to
When eve-ning's home pleasures an-
At morning, at noon or at
dear,
song,
nigh,
nigh?
To know that this moment some lov'd one
Does some one re - peat my name ov - er,
When the can - dies are lit in the par - lor,
And lin-gers one gloomy shade round them
Were say - ing,"I wish he were
And sigh that I tar- ry so
And the stars in the calm, azure
That on - ly my presence can
DO THEY MISS ME AT HOME?
69
eel that the group
is there a chord i
here ;"
long? And is there a chord in the mu
sky ? And when the "good nights" are re - peat
light? Arc joys less in- vit-iug-ly wel
- side Were think -ing of me as I
sic, That, missed when my voice is a -
ed, And all lay them down to their
- come, And pleasures less hale than be -
•*••*• •*•
=^=-g=p^==g=^
Oh, yes, 'twould be joy be - yond meas-ure
And a chord in each heart that a - wak - eth
Do they think of the ab - sent, and wnft me
Be - cause one is missed from the cir - cle,
To
Re -
A
Be -
H^^-i— - :_ :
— »— —1— -
i
d=; ^:Ei±
=*=
flrtf libitum.
know that they miss me at home,
- gret at my wea - ri - some stay ?
whis -per'd "good night" while they weep?
- cause I am with them no more?
To know that they miss me at home,
lie - gret at my wea - ri - some stay ?
A whisper'd "good night," while they weep?
Be - cause I am with them no more?
± _*_• f T-*—
OLD FOLKS AT HOME.
FOE its age, this is one of the best known songs in the world. Four hundred thousand
copies of it were sold, and E. P. Christy, of minstrel fame, paid four hundred dollars for
the privilege of having his name printed upon a single edition as its author and composer.
The true author and composer was STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER.
Moderato. By special permission of Messrs. OLIVER DITSON & Co.
/r it/1 N ^ s
— •
f-s-
-H 1 r
1
V
•
fix ' ' pnnn
p
zaa J n
V
EZ & m J • m
t
9 •
2 •
9 9 * m ^
1. Way down up - on de Swa - nee rib - ber, Far, far a - way,
-£-g , , , n , , , 1 1
N»
1 h
*.. \ 1 1
331 H •
[Cn ' *"* j J m
0
— 5 *~
-^ J J J—
— a J 1
4
;j j i i
— 1 1 — — • —
(^y'ffij./ > "^ — — •S —
— !*•
>rf
<3 'if
:y :
*^^ 4M , &* . R
•
j
5
"**
1
^S
•
-*• . -^ . •* • -
: •
, Qfl . — - — 1 — | —
Dere's wha my heart is turn - ing eb - her, Dere's wha de old fol
is stay.
J- X -5- J- -i- i j
v -*--*--*• -*• -*• -*
ia\«4 1 1
*• if • ^A
• .ff .wj. •«-
™ ^ ~^~ 0
75TT — 1~ "iv" ~> — FT~~ ~f — » — ft~~""l — ~~
^-3
& ~ J J J — £—J- ..>.- J -5-7- -d
AH up and down de whole ere - a - tion, Sad - ly I roam,
' -J^-r — * — i — i— — - — h~ ~~^ -s i — t~ ~N — I — 1~~ H
ft--*_J— J- =J- ; — * j J — 4 — ^-J— J f 1 " j H j— 1
t -C--4- •§•-§••»• -+--+--+-
22* * 1 1
V IE?'2'* — G>— ^ — — •£ — — ^ — i~~ — «^~ —&<—. — — £— -
— ^- — -
^ •
kh * J -f h J H i -f r Ff-^ "7".. ^ j -^ ft[
— 1 — — 5?—
* — —j — 0 ' ^ ^ — • 9—T — O-* — ^ — j
Still long- ing for de old plan - ta - tion, And for de old folks at home.
1J •* _i i i
i ii
fff\ $ X -I •" X- 'X j X X
-x — *— H
u.-) 9 9 — y — — y — — 2 — m — — • —
J *—
i
g;^ g . x ^» — 1
& s 1
fc^_» : ^ _ ^ ^
^^1
^ ^. ^
CHORUS.
i QS [i — 2 ' — 1 ^ 1 i — r- f 1 — (— | 1 — j
(3> * * — *^ — - — ^ — •
e> ' * '.
AH de world am sad and drear - y, Eb - rv where I
ffi\\ - *-±- ^r -^ — i — r -i — ^- I ' ^
roam.
-= — i — i — i— 1
*r^ -*—i — ^ x 1 i " | ^ j-
s j.j, j J
JC- -XL — ~-
i Q ^ 1 '— | — i
f "- — IS ii! ^ — S f i f " " ~T* i 1 K IS
^.
—j — J — * — J- -J— — ^H j}— g — J ^
Oh! dar-keys, how my heart grows wear- y, Far from de old folks at
home.
KB — — i— J — — J — --J5 — — «^ — j x J — ~-% j —
/-\
^^yj
<l « "S • ^T— -J
— ^\-~ =^-41
OLD FOLKS AT HOME.
71
2d Verse.
:=z£
All round de lit - tie farm I wan - der'd When I was young,
^— r-=^=qg= :T:g - =
^ i r L_E-^— *— j
Den ma - ny hap - py days I squan-der'd, Ma - ny de songs I sung.
When
I was play - ing wid my brud - der. Hap - py was I,
CHO.
3
:f=^
=£==£=
Oh! take me to my kind old mud-der, Dere let me live and die.
3d Verse.
>K ff Jf N iv 'p" IN
* = -*-
-. — j 1 -i—, — 3 —
r
82 J 1 * -
^v & m J * m
9 -•*-£}'
9 9V
One lit - tie hut a - mong de bush - es,
0 tt
One dat I love,
- y <* — — c — — \ — £—
0
9-— -
k I
/L ft 1- - — k \ P k-
~~\ — r
— 9 "p^ \ 1 — 5? —
Tqr o J J m J
! , 1
^ W M J
Still sad - ly to my mem - 'ry rush - es,
No mat - ter where I rove.
_. j ,
P— I— — KT- — N KT-
* • T~
~~l x 1 ^~
J f ^~~^ J
\ f- —
- ^ J . PS L ^
When will I see de bees a hum-ming All round de comb?
CHO.
n +t
y «x t v
h.
XL ff CZI^ZII ZEHZZ5
• i •
j ^ k. i i N»
-^V- -J- -J^— J-
r: — \-
— M —
-*- ^ ^ J J- =^-^— H
When will I hear de ban - jo tum-ming Down in my good old home?
ROCK ME TO SLEEP.
MRS. ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN, first known to the literary world under the nom de
plume of Florence Percy, was born in Strong, Franklin County, Maine, October 9, 1832. In
1860, she married Paul Akers, the sculptor, who died within a year. She afterwards married
E. M. Allen, of New York.
While in Italy, she sent to the Philadelphia Saturday Evening Post her song of " Rock
me to Sleep." It was published, and immediately became immensely popular. Within
six years from that time, several persons had so identified themselves with the favorite as
to imagine that it had been evolved from their own inner consciousness. The most per-
sistent and furious of these claimants was one Hon. Mr. Ball, of New Jersey, who in a
many-columned article in the New York Tribune, and in the most absurd pamphlet ever
written, attempted to prove that that mother was his mother, and the lullaby was one she
sang, or might have sung to him. In a witty and convincing reply in the New York Times
of May 27, 1867, the lady's claim is not so much insisted upon, which was deemed unneces-
sary, as the Hon. Mr. Ball's "title to Mrs. Akers's mansion in the literary skies" is disposed
of forever. The reply was written by William D. O'Connor, of Washington, who apprised
Mrs. Allen of his friendly act only after the manuscript had been sent to the printer.
This preeminently womanly song has been set to music by many composers, and made
merchandise by as many publishers ; but its author has never received for it any compen-
sation except the five dollars paid her by the journal in which it originally appeared.
72
OUR FAMILIAR SONG&
Russell & Co., of Boston, who published the well-known air to it, composed by Ernest Leslie,
acknowledged that they had made more than four thousand dollars on the song, and they
sent a messenger to Mrs. Allen, offering five dollars apiece for as many songs as she would
write for them, which should be equally popular with "Kock me to sleep"! The royal
offer was not accepted then ; but when Mrs. Allen was a homeless widow, with two chil-
dren in her arms, she sent the firm a little song, — which was promptly rejected, with the
simple comment that they " could make nothing of it." The firm has since become
bankrupt.
The air here given is the production of J. MAX MUELLER, son of C. G. Mueller, a noted
German composer. He was bora in Altenburg, Germany, June 19, 1842, received a musi-
cal education, and came to the United States in 1860. On the breaking out of the war in
1861, he enlisted in the Twenty-ninth New York Volunteers, and subsequently was an Aid to
General Steinwehr. He participated in many of the battles of the Army of the Potomac,
and composed many songs while in the field. Since 1866, he has resided in West Chester,
Penn., where he teaches music.
By special permission of Louis Meyer.
— fV-
•
-x-
1. Back -ward, turn....
2. Back - ward, flow....
buck - ward, O Time, in your flight,
back - ward, O tide of the years 1
I
^-X-
1X1
Make me a child a -gain, just for to-night!
I am so wear - y of toil and of tears,
Mo - t her, come....
Toil with -out....
Kt- '
back from the ech - - - o - less shore,
re - com -pense, tears.... all in vain,
Take me a- gain to your
Take them and give me my
A A A A A A
rit.
BOCK ME TO SLEEP, MOTHER.
73
m
W=4
£=S=J:
heart, as of yore;
child - hood a - gain;
H^^^^s
Kiss from my fore - head the fur - - rows of
I have grown wear - y of dust and de -
care,
- cay,
Smooth the few sil - ver threads out of my hair,
Wear y of fling - ing my soul wealth a" -way,
O - - ver my slum - - bers your lov
Wear - - v of sow - - ing for oth
ing watch keep,
ers to reap,
-4- -4- -4- -0- -4- -J- -J- -4- •* •*- * * * * *
.. -9- -f- -4- -1- -a
74
Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,
Make me a child again, just for to night !
Mother, come back from the echoless shore,
Take me again to your heart, as of yore ;
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair,
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep,
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.
Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years !
I am so weary of toil and of tears,
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,
Take them and give me my childhood again ;
I have grown weary of dust and decay,
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away ;
Weary of sowing for others to reap,
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.
Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you ;
Many a summer the grass has grown green,
Blossomed and faded, our faces between,
Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,
Long I to-night for your presence again.
Come from the silence so long and so deep, —
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.
OUR FAMILIAR SONUS-
Over my heart, in days that are flown,
No love like mother-love ever has shone ;
No other worship abides and endures
Faithful, unselfish, and patient, like yours ;
None like a mother can charm away pain
From the sick soul and the world-weary brain ;
Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep,—
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.
Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with goldr
Fall on your shoulders again, as of old;
Let it drop over my forehead to-night,
Shading my faint eyes away from the light,
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore •,
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep,—
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.
Mother, dear mother, the years have been long
Since I last listened your lullaby song;
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem
Womanhood's years have been only a dream.
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace,
With your light lashes just sweeping my face, —
Never hereafter to wake or to weep, —
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.
THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.
THE words of this sweet song are very characteristic of their author, FELICIA HEMANS,
The second stanza commemorates the death of her brother, Claude Scott Browne, who was
deputy commissary-general at Kingston, Canada, and died there in 1821. The song was a
favorite with the Barker family, who gave popular concerts throughout the United States,
forty years ago, and the music was arranged by NATHAN BARKER, one of the quartette.
Plaintively. .^
_^ _—•• fc.—_ . — ,- .* — . "^•^^r— ^^i-
grew in beau - ty side by side, They fill'd . one home with
•» i . . i —— .1 - . - i . - — • t — — T — — — W — f
They grew in beau - ty side by side,
They fill'd one home with
THE GttA VES OF A HO USEHOLD.
S3
Their graves are sev - er*d far and wide,
— -N K— =JT:^:=^f=:i
"^=^EEi=5=E:J=tE
75
=z=zq=L j
*zr=*zr±=::
_
-- 1 •— -
— -=£± — * - f - •—
_i _ ji __ . . fc _ i£
Their graves are sev - er'd far and wide,
^r\ ^ I * ^ ii J s .if_!5
0 1 0 !• 0
i=
T= EiE EP
=^=^ — h *^ — f
A J
mount and stream and sea.
T _ _ _ i=irs _ ns-a— -. _ n5-
=*=<=g_ J— H-i=f=
The same fond mo - ther bent at
-,— j-
mount and stream and sea.
The same fond mo - ther bent at
FJ— ^ — f^+—i— =_z }=*— zd3z===:
^- -rr-*- 4 i-' 4 4 - 4
=
Jl""l *
-j f r js-j , — :
3 i — i. ^=^_ — :
w. ^-_ *-*- _j.
7(5
OUR FAMILIAR XONGt>.
Where are
these dream - ers
pip ip||ii;p
•:£=:
*:
They grew in beauty side by side,
They filled one home with glee ;
Their graves are severed far and wide,
By mount, and stream, and sea ;
The same fond mother bent at night
O'er each fair sleeper's brow,
She had each folded flower in sight.
Where are those dreamers now ?
Ont, 'midst the forests of the West,
By a dark stream is laid —
The Indian knows his place of rest,
Far in the cedar shade ;
The sea, the blue, lone sea hath one —
He sleeps where pearls lie deep;
He was the loved of all, yet none
O'er his low bed may weep?
One sleeps where southern vines are dressed
Above the noble slain —
He wrapt his colors round his breast,
On a blood-red field of Spain ;
And one — o'er her the myrtle showers
Its leaves by soft winds fanned —
She faded 'midst Italian flowers,
The last of that bright band !
And, parted thus, they rest who played
Beneath the same green tree;
Whose voices mingled as they prayed
Around one parent knee —
They that with smiles lit up the hall,
And cheered with song the hearth I
Alas! for love, if thou wert all,
And naught beyond, O earth !
SONGS OF EXILE,
They trod the crowded streets of hoary towM,
Or tilled from year to year the wearied fields,
And in the shadow of the golden crowns
They gasped for sunshine and the health it yields.
They turned from homes all cheerless, child and man,
With kindly feelings only for the soil,
And for the kindred faces, pinched and wan,
That prayed, and stayed, unwilling, at their toil.
They lifted up their faces to the Lord,
And read his answer in the westering sun,
That called them ever as a shining word,
And beckoned seaward as the rivers run.
— John Boyle
Prom clime to clime pursue the scene,
And mark in all thy spacious way,
Where'er the tyrant, Man, has been,
There Peace, the cherub, can not stay,
In wilds and woodlands far away,
She builds her solitary bower,
Where only anchorites have trod,
Or friendless men, to worship God,
Have wandered for an hour.
— Thomas Campbell.
They sat them down upon the yellow sand,
Between the sun and moon, upon the shore;
And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland,
Of child, and wife, and slave ; but evermore
Most weary seemed the sea, weary the oar,
Weary the wandering fields of barren foam.
Then some one said, " We will return no morel"
And all at once they sang, " Our island home
Is far beyond the wave ; we will no longer roam ! "
—Alfred Tennyson-
SONGS OF EXILE,
BAY OF DUBLIN.
LADY DUFFERIN'S peculiar pathos is even more delicately apparent in this song of hers
than in her better known " Irish Emigrant." The wail is set to the old melody for which
Moore made his " Last Rose of Summer."
Sempre ad lib. con moltissimo espressione.
jg_ fc, *, " 3 — ^
— s 1 — ^^ — s
rf — P ^ 0 — ;; j — '
— H 5= ^ ^ \-l
D^^ r [^ it A
j j . •
\ f \ • \ Ct
_ *3 N 1 4
Q ' ,j 5 E
j ^ * ^ 1
( ^ 1. Oh! Bay of Dub-lin! my heart you're troub-lin', Your beau -ty
5£ 2. Sweet Wick - low moun - tains ! the sun - light sleep - ing On your green
3. How oft - en when at work, I sit - tin', And mus - ing
tf b r *i
x
P
i
J^_ [1 \ ^r
•
J «f
/
R^ * ' JL
»
"-<-« - 4-* '
-<-« A 4
Sempre colla voce.
•~\* 1, Q -w "
i» s i»
B£zg=3=zs
^HS
|
-J ^ *"*i 7"
't^t * j
^EBS^=5
haunts me like
banks is
sad - ly on
a "~fe - ver dream —
a pict - ure rare;
the days of yore,
Like fro - zen foun - tains that the sun sets
You crowd a - round me like young girls
I think I see my Ka - tie
.^_ — »'-0 — »_• — 0 — 1-*-^-
. bub-bliu',
peep -ing,
knit - tin'
My heart's blood warms when I but hear your name;
And puz -'zlin' me to say which is most fair;
And the chil - der play - in' around the cab - in door ;
And ne - ver
As tho' you'd
I think I
ty
80
OUJi FAMILIAR SONGS.
till
Bee
see
this life -pulse ceas-es,
your own sweet fa - ces
the neigh-bors' fa - ces,
My ear- liest, la - test thought will cease to
Re-fleet - ed in that smooth and sil - ver
All gath - erM round, their long - lost friend to
i*Tn— • -1 -? ~* ~fc-
1 5
^ ' i* f • -
MPpP P ^—~' ' * ! * -j g i • •
U— Ij— p
knows how fair
those.... love -
that
\y
knows how fair
that
n I *^
f<7///z 7/0^ tempo <'S*'
^ primo con espress. .
,s
'-):•- 7- — s — zi— "~i&~
? 1
±±5EH B * H3
{*
~l
ritenuto.
place Is,
pla - ces,
place is,
And no one
Tho' no one
Heav'n knows bow
ceres
cares
dear
how
how
my
dear it
dear they
poor home
s
are
was
to
to
to
me.
me.
me.
/rs /r\ ^rs
f r
col}^ canto. "^
THE OAK AND THE ASH.
THIS is a song of the seventeenth century. The air is from Queen Elizabeth's " Vir-
ginal Book," where it is entitled "The Quodling's Delight." The hero of Scott's "Kob
Roy," speaking of his old Northumbrian nurse, says : " I think I see her look around on
the brick walls and narrow streets which presented themselves from our windows, as she
concluded with a sigh the favorite old ditty, which I then preferred, and — why should I
not tell the truth? — which I still prefer to all the opera airs ever minted by the capricious
brain of an Italian Mus. Doc.
Oh, the oak, the ash, and the bonny ivy tree,
They flourish best at home in the North Country."
THE OAK AND THE ASH.
Andante.
A North-Country lass up to Lon - don did pass, Although with her na - ture it
35551:; m .*£ . 'r+y* — s 4-
3 p n ! — p
r^-j p^^^ £zp
/mP-p- — f— q^> — f— •— * — 4— *-
r^— »— jH
J_L^ ^— =-4-
isy n J ^ r2lj LV L<
* * 9 *
* 1 * * MJ « •
»/ Sj* ^ *— ?
did not agree ; Which made her repent and so
of-ten la-ment, Still wish- ing a-gain hi the
i>T ^TJ^ *
i ^ ^-
_i _ ^
J/ fa [~P f~^j — — r^* ' — i —
__L.j * J
ff^l r 1 A 4 M ' 1 ^^
_|_ « * , *
^
L"<5'
•*• 1-5-
f\» U , | 1 i ^f
• * * *
S t^ ?• 1- i •" rf?
_/0 _|
4 ji 4
North for to be. O ! the oak and the ash, and the .bon -ny i - vy tree, They
=I=J=H!
IF
nzp^— ==J= :=j==zp= =p= =4 j— :H
E|==^E|EE!E =§==EzEE=E^E =Eg
^^ ^ r /
^=
riten.
=T__^H.
^uteijt
flour - ish at home in my own coun - try.
colla voce.
•~f~--- -*=^q.==;=3--i_- ^f=*\
^=£=Z
dim.
^tt=E33==3=5=c-a
=^_SEi|rzz^^3l
P
-*——* *—
A North Country lass up to London did pass,
Although with her nature it did not agree ;
Which made her repent, and so often lament,
Still wishing again in the North for to be.
O the oak, and the ash, and the bonny ivy-tree,
They flourish at home in my own country.
Fain would I be in the North Country,
Where the lads and the lasses are making of
hay;
There should I see what is pleasant to me; —
A mischief light on them enticed me away !
O the oak, and the ash, &c.
OUR FAMILIAR
I like not the court, nor the city resort,
Since there is no fancy for such maids as me ;
Their pomp and their pride, I can never abide,
Because with my humor it doth not agree.
O the oak, and the ash, &c.
How oft have I been in the Westmoreland green,
Where the young men and maidens resort for to
play,
Where we with delight, from morning till night,
Could feast it and frolic on each holiday.
O the oak, and the ash, &c.
The ewes and their lambs, with the kids and
their dams,
To see in the country how finely they play ;
The bells they do ring, and the birds they do sing,
And the fields and the gardens, so pleasant and
gay-
O the oak, and the ash, &c.
At wakes and at fairs, being void of all cares,
W« there with our lovers did use for to dance ;
Then hard hap had I, my ill-fortune to try,
And so up to London my steps to advance.
O the oak, and the ash, &c.
But still I perceive, I a husband might have,
If I to the city my mind could but frame ;
But I'll have a lad that is North-Country bred,
Or else I'll not marry in the mind that I am.
O the oak, and the ash, &c.
A maiden I am, and a maid I'll remain,
Until my own country again I do see ;
For here in this place I shall ne'er see the face
Of him that's allotted my love for to be.
O the oak, the ash, &c.
Then, farewell, my daddy, and farewell, my
mammy,
Until* I do see you, I nothing but mourn ;
Remembering my brothers, my sisters and
others,
In less than a year, I hope to return.
Then the oak, and the ash, &c,
LOCHABER NO MORE.
ALLAN KAMSAY, author of the words of " Lochaber No More," was one of the many
Scottish i>oets who have sprung from humble life, and derived their intellectual strength
from the maternal side. He also inherited from his mother a happy temperament, which
was fostered by success. He worked at wig-making in early life, but after his poems began
to bring him celebrity and money, he became a bookseller. In connection with his shop,
he established the first circulating library that Scotland ever possessed. His pastoral, en-
titled " The Gentle Shepherd," won him wide popularity, and is considered by many the
finest of its class in the language. Under the title of " Tea-Table Miscellany," he published
a choice selection of Scottish and English songs, in four volumes (1724-'40), which proved
very popular. He subjected himself to some censure by curtailing or altering, in many
instances, the ancient lyrics.
Kamsay was born in Lanarkshire, October 15, 1686, and died in Edinburgh, January
7, 1758, in a picturesque house he had built for himself on the slope of Castle Hill, which
still stands. His son, Allan Ramsay, the younger (1713-'84), became eminent as a painter.
The Scotch have long claimed the air of "Lochaber no more ;" but Chappell has hinted,
and Samuel Lover has proved, that its origin is Irish. It is to be found in a book in the
British Museum, entitled "New Poems, Songs, Prologues and Epilogues, never before
printed, by Thomas Duffet, and set by the most eminent musicians about the town. Lon-
don, 1676." In this volume the air is called " The Irish Tune." The words which Duffet
wrote for it were entitled " Since Ccelia's my foe," and by that name the air was known in
England for almost a century. Therefore, it was called in England "The Irish Tune,"
seventeen years before there is the first claim made to it by the Scotch. It was also found
in a manuscript collection of airs written for the viola de gamba, 1683 -'92, and was there
entitled " King James's March into Ireland." In a late collection it is called " King James's
March to Dublin." Twelve years after, the song was known in London as " The Irish
LOCHABER NO MORE. 83
Tune," when there is evidence that Irish music was in favor at the court j King James
went to Ireland with the strongest reason for wishing to excite Irish sympathy. How
natural that the royal progress should be made to the sound of Irish airs. Singularly
enough, the air can be traced in its journey into Scotland from its native land. Bunting,,
in his "Ancient Music of Ireland," without knowing of the since-discovered fact about
" The Irish Tune," says : " Another eminent harper of this period was MYLES EEILLY, ot
Killincarra, in the county of Cavan, born about 1635. He was universally referred to as
the composer of the original ' Lochaber.' The air is supposed to have been carried into
Scotland by Thomas Connallon, born five years later, at Cloonmahoon, in the county of Sligo.
O'Neill calls him ' the great harper/ and says he attained city honors in Edinburgh, where
he died." The song first appeared in its present form in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany,""
1724. The melody is said to have so powerful an effect upon the Highlander in a foreign
army, in a strange land, that military bands are forbidden to play it.
Affetuoso.
Fare - well to Loch- a - ber, fare - well to my Jean! Y/ uere heart-some wi'
I ha'e mo - ny days been; For Loch-a - ber no more, Loch -
a - ber no more, We'll may-be re - turn to Loch - a - ber no more. These
r . ^^>-v— . r -i — | r— |
JE pp E^^3??gp|E^E^^p£=
~^-f 9
JLV
84
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
tears that I shed they are a' for ray dear, And no' for the
=::=- zrzrzzii j
E-M?=
dan - gers at - tend - ing on weir; Tho' borne on rough seas to a.
PSE3=
—ifs-. =J=Jti-
J J
l-=*=l-j&-
— » \r*75
*=
1=
-**-*-+—-
;!
far dis - taut shore, May - be to re - turn to Loch - a - ber no more.
Farewell to Locliaber, farewell to my Jean,
Where heartsome wi' thee I ha'e mony days been;
For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more,
We'll may be return to Lochaber no more.
These tears that I shed they are a' for my dear,
And no' for the dangers attending on weir;
Tho' borne on rough seas to a far distant shore,
Maybe to return to return to Lochaber no more.
Tho' hurricanes rise, and rise ev'ry wind,
They'll ne'er make a tempest like that in my mind;
Tho' loudest of thunders on louder waves roar,
There's naething like leaving my love on the shore.
To leave thee behind me, my heart is sair pained;
But by ease that's inglorious nofamecanbegain'd ;
And beauty and love's the reward of the brave :
And I maun deserve it before I can crave.
Then glory, my Jeanie, maun plead my excuse :
Since honour commands me, how can I refuse?
Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee ;
And losing thy favour, I'd better not be.
I gae, then, my lass, to win honour and fame ;
And if I should chance to come gloriously hame
I'll bring a heart to thee with love running o'er,
And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more.
THE LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT.
THE LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT.
86
HELEN SELINA SHERIDAN was bora in Ireland in 1807. She inherited the wit and
brilliance of her grandfather, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, and was noted in fashionable
circles for her beauty and accomplishments. Besides the words of the songs, with which
she occupied her leisure hours, she wrote music and considerable elegant literature, which
has not survived like that of her sister, Mrs. Norton. When but eighteen years old, she
married the Honorable Price Blackwood, afterward Lord DmTerin. He died in 1841, and
twenty-one years afterward, when her old and intimate friend, the Earl of Gifford, was in
his last illness, she became his wife, that she might be constantly by his side. He lived
but two months, and five years later, June 13, 1867, Lady Gifford died also. The present
Earl Dufferin, late Governor-General of Canada, is her son.
The music which so exquisitely expresses the sentiment of Lady Bufferings song, was
composed by WILLIAM E. DEMPSTER, and many will well remember hearing him sing it in
this country.
4-
--N k-&
*=££
:&^S — t
^
bright May morn - in', long a - go, When first you were my bride.
The
*±
corn was springin' fresh and green, And the lark sang loud and high,.
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS,
t con esbress
a
red was on your lip. Ma - ry, And the love- light jn__vour eve-..^ And the
Rail, ad lib.
0 WJJ-Jg: -^ -*+-\ $ 1
red was on your lip, Ma- ry, And the love-light in
your rye.
Tis but a step down yon- der lane, And the lit- tie church stands near,
Staccato sempre.
&
Lentando.
/
church where we were wed,
IT-— i
Ma - ry, I see the spire from here ; But the
*•:
gSr: -j — j-v- paac==== I
grave-yard lies be - tween, Mii-ry, And my step might break your rest, For I've
r;j j J J | J
THE LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT.
laid you, dar- ling, down to sleep, With your ba - by oil your breast, . For I've
* * - • r
4 4 i
^m
g£
?=*
^
laid you, dar -ling, down to sleep, With your ba - by on your breast
I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary,
Where we sat side by side,
On a bright May morning, long ago,
When first you were my bride.
The corn was springing fresh and green,
And the lark sang loud and high,
And the red was on your lip, Mary,
And the love-light in your eye.
The place is little changed, Mary,
The day as bright as then,
The lark's loud song is in my ear,
And the corn is green again !
But I miss the soft clasp of your hand,
And your breath warm on my cheek,
And I still keep listenin' for the words,
You never more will speak.
Tis but a step down yonder lane,
And the little church stands near,
The church where we were wed, Mary,
I see the spire from here ;
But the graveyard lies between, Mary,
And my step might break your rest,
For I laid you, darling, down to sleep,
With your baby on your breast.
I'm very lonely now, Mary,
For the, poor make no new friends,
But Oh ! they love them better far,
The few our father sends !
And you were all I had. Mary,
My blessing and my pride ;
There's nothing left to care for now,
Since my poor Mary died
Yours was the brave, good heart, Mary,
That still kept hoping on,
When the trust in God had left my soul,
And my arm's young strength was gone ;
There was comfort ever on your lip,
And the kind look on your brow ;
I bless you for that same, Mary,
Though you can't hear me now.
I thank you for the patient smile,
When your heart was fit to break,
When the hunger pain was gnawing there,
And you hid it for my sake ;
I bless you for the pleasant word,
When your heart was sad and sore;
Oh, I am thankful you are gone, Mary,
Where grief can't reach you more !
I'm bidding you a long farewell,
My Mary, kind and true,
But I'll not forget you, darling,
In the land I'm going to.
They say there's bread and work for all,
And the sun shines always there;
But I'll not forget old Ireland
Were it fifty times as fair.
And often in those grand old woods,
I'll sit and shut my eyes,
And my heart will travel back again,
To the place where Mary lies.
And I'll think I see the little stile,
Where we sat side by side;
And the springing corn, and the bright May morn.
When first you were my bride.
OUR FAMILIAL' SONGS.
ERIN IS MY HOME.
THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY wrote the following song. The music is a popular German
air, arranged by IGNATZ MOSCHELES, the eminent composer and pianist, who was born in
Prague in 1794. He left his country for travel and study, and finally settled in London.
where he died, March 10, 1870. His musical memoirs, edited by his wife, were published
in New York, under the title " Recent Music and Musicians."
mp Andante espressivo
1. Oh! I haveroam'din ma- ny lands, And ma- ny friends I've met;
2. In E -rin's isle there's manly hearts, And bos - oms pure as snow; In
m
3. If Eng-land were my place of birth,
I'd love her Iran - quil shore ;
i -*--*- i
If
one fair scene or kind-ly smile
E - rin's isle there's right good cheer.
Can this fond heart for - get; But
And hearths that ev - er glow. In
^
bon - nie Scot-land were my home, Her mountains I'd a - dore ; Tho'
•J^~f~£=f=fe=^=;=g= -» 1" -T £4— j" J J-
:*=t=
I'll con - fess that I'm con - tent,
E- rin's isle I'd pass my time.
No more I wish to roam ; Oh I
No more I wish to roam; Oh!
i , ~f ~] ; j
ZZ*_ t
steer my bark to E - rin's We,
For E - rin is my home,
Oh!
• i
•*— r-
steer my back to E - rin's Isle,
For
* * *
E - rin is my home, Oh!
-^ J n« ^
EltlX IS MY HOME.
89
stivr my bark to E - rin's Isle,
}bz=:j==r-— T— i£=:-£i
-*-T «
steer my back to E - rin's Isle,
[f- jy '*-r — to — rf~
5 — ^_^^i_^-
H«-
i f — r— p . -*— , T*"*~r~r~: > 11
-I 1 I I i • — 0 — f !— f '• 1
_j | J 0 =-r- *-*-t~ * 11
For E - rin is mv home.
:±
For
f=
E - rin is nn
home.
PAT MALLOY.
THE song of "Pat Malloy" occurs iu the play of "Arrah na Pogue." Its author, DION
BOUCICAULT, actor aud dramatic writer, was born in Dublin, December 26, 1822. His father,
a French refugee, was a merchant in that city. The son was educated in England. Among
the multitude of plays which he has written or adapted, is the representation of " Rip Van
Winkle," which Joseph Jefferson has made so popular. Boucicault has spent a great deal
of time in this country, although London is his home.
age, I was my moth - er's fair-hair'd boy, She
pur - ty place, of goold there is no lack, I
- mer - i - ca a - cross the seas I roam, And
fE^E^IE^1
t^f
1. At six - teen years of
2. Oh, Eng-land is a
3. From Ire - land to A
^-^— s— ':— r— — ^— f— ^===^- -H i T „ 1— -- 1— =4— T— g— _ (— q
-ft-11— ?— f— ? — ^ — *, <| f— ? — », — j — •»i~r~^ — »j — »j — api~{~?'~*li~iir"<~ i
— *- — £ -*— -^ -« ^ £— — * — ^ — -£— _j_-j_^:r
J.
f-7-f—
^
r &1
id
:«»«=?=:
-tt 1
11
kept a lit • tie
trudged from York to
ev - ry shill - ing
Jst
-H T
g — 5 — ^~
!=5=|3
E
«i ,. . 4 i . m
A
four -teen c-liil -dreu," Pat, says she, "which heav'n to me has sent,
Eng - lish girN are beau - ti - ful, their loves I don't de - cline,
moth - er could not write, but on there came from Fa- ther Boyce;
M-
rfl — ? I ii ii— — ^——A——i=:. — ii * *— f-?—
— F— ¥
_j _. ^ — _ — j-
s 51 jg - L. . * !-t
^__j_j_i__ _j-
But
The
"Oh,
g
:zr=zg:
:Esi:
-^
PC
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
j) fluff— > -*» "», rx-
N N * —
— -9 f
_ — — _ —
|P- -*— •—£-*- -J J J
chil - der aint like pigs, you know— they
eat - ing, and the drink - ing too, is
heav'n bless you, Pat," says she— "I hear
can't pay
beau - ti - ful
-^ i. ^
the rent!" She
and fine ; But
er's voice !" But
S= -S— T—
1 — f=| p
/ m _« _-? —
— 2 0 * —
— J, 2
:«b_^_
^I*1—
e)
Li*_ J__
— .1 * ^
gave me ev' - ry shil - ling there was in the till,
in a cor- ner of my heart, which no - bo - dv can see,
now I'm go - ing home a - gain, as poor as I be - gan,
And
Two
To
kiss'd me fif - ty times or more, as if she'd nev-ergether fill, — "Oh,
eyes of I - rish blue are al-ways peep- ing out at me! Oh,
make a hap - py girl of Moll, and sure I think I can. Me
t-S-fc—
ft=T=fcEjEEpi3SEEE5Eg
—5 1 :PZ -^J £ — -£-*— ±
fct=
?|p=^s^E: :—i^. « * t r:
^^^ — — * * — — _iz^j=z — ^m^~ — _zzb:
^EjE^
_5:_5H!
* w
heav'n bless you, Pat," says she, "and don't for - get, my boy, That ould
Mol - ly, dar - lin, ne • ver fear, I'm still your own dear boy— Ould
pock - cte they are emp - ty, but me heart is filled with joy; For ould
fe
1 — J — .|_tJ_|__JE3- ~
Ire - land is
is
Ire land is
your coun - try, and
me conn- try, and
me coun • try, and
your name is
me name is
me name is
Pat Mai - loy!"
Pat Mai - loy.
Pat Mai -loy.
3=
i
-
THE EX1I.1-: OF A'/.'/.Y.
THE EXILE OF ERIN.
91
WHEN THOMAS CAMPBELL had fairly set forth as a literary adventurer, he went over to
Germany to acquaint himself with the men and manner of his chosen profession. The first
incident of his journey that has a direct interest for posterity was his opportunity to watch
the progress of the battle of Hoheulinden, which he has made better known to most
American schoolboys than many of the engagements of our own Eevolution. At Ham-
burg he met Anthony M'Cann, an Irishman, and a leader of the Irish Rebellion of 1798,
who was then an exile from his home. Prom the sympathy which his lot, and that of his
confederates, aroused in Campbell's kindly nature, came the beautiful lyric that follows.
The air is the old Irish melody, " Savourneen Deelish."
1. There t-arne to the beach a poor
3. "Oh! E - rin, my coun -try, tho'
v~
-» I
••••••
1 r
j-^E=bf E3
-_»_ i •
Ex - ile of E - rin, The dew on his thin robe was hea - vy and chill, For his
sad and for- sak - en, In dreams I re - vis - it thy sea - beat - en shore ; But, a -
coun - try he sigh'd, when at twi - light re - pair - ing, To wan - der a - lone by the
las ! in a far for - eign laud I a - wak - en, And sigh for the friends who can
&=£3=^=&=^
OUJt FAMILIAR SONGS.
wind -beat-en hill;
meet me no more.
But the day - star at-traet - ed his eyes' sad de - vo - tion,Forit
Ah ! cru - el fate ! wilt thou ne - ver re - place me In a
rose.... o'er his own na - tive isle of the o - cean, Where once in tin- tire of his
man - sion of peace, where no per - ils can chase me? Ah 1 ne - Y( a -gain shall toy
---)
— »-— p^^ =g=4 =*= E
- =£3: zpr^rz: =^
—*,— -— i — s — s— -v— rH-
~~y^r — *— 1~*— J — — ^-j
^ » ^f-* * * *
youth - ful e - mo - tion, He sang the bold an - them of E - rin go bragh.
bro - there em - brace me ! They died to de - fend me, or live to de-plore !
z=f=t:=
2. "Oh! sad is my fate!" said the
4. "Oh! where is my ca - bin door,
..-11 -t
•+*+-
faj^
^^E
| TT^w-
heart-bro - ken stran -ger,"The wild deer and wolf to a cov - crt can flee;
fast by the wild woo Sis-ters,and sire, did you weep for its fall?
EG
But
Oh!
^Ei
• ~-\
i
i
THE EXILE OF ERIN.
93
!=£=
-0- -+^0-
I have no re - fuge from fa - mine and dan - ger, A home and a coun - try re -
here is the moth - er that look'd on inv child-hood? And where is the ho - soin frit-nd
where is the moth - er that look'd ou my child-hood? And where is the bo - som friend,
main not to me;
dear - er than all?
Ah! ne - er a -gain in the green sha-dy bo\v-ers, Where my
Ah, my sad heart! long a - ban - don'd by pleas - ure, Why
=j=5=*=&==: j-
f • * *-0 *
* It •*•*•
t3=3=5=»=*qr=3t
•*•*••*• ** '
FT *^rf — m ^ —
9- »-i-«H F 0 *—
IS *L
••••I1 x
fore - fa - thers liv'd, shall I spend the sweet hours, Or cov - er my harp with the
didst thou doat on a fast fad-iug tmi-sure? Tears like the rain - drop may
J^^ ^^^^E3Eft:l
^S0^ zzc^ijt
=j^EJi=«=||
:q-=
wild-Ayo-ven flow -ers, And strike the sweet mini - bers of E - rin go bragh.
fail with- out meas-ure,But rap - ture and beau - ty they can- not re-call!
(* «
*• id 1— H K 1- ^=^- * J
0, 1. I \J > —
yet, all its sad re - col -
94
OUll FAMILIAR SONGS.
S X —•.
= z^--^ *=^=&l ^0=tt
SSRZ^— •EfccES:^ t=J==»=&—
- lee - tions sup • press - ing, Oue dy - iug wish my lone bo- som shall draw, Oh I
0
E - rin! an ex - ile be - queaths thee hU bless - ing ! Dear land of my fore - fa- 1 hers,
v' — gi — ^ — -« — * — s j *~r 0 — . — *-- 2»m^ — 9 — : j - -»izii — 4- — \r--~' """
-JT^-*- -F^pf-U^=£^r- -jr-p- »-*--14-^-^^JV-|- -
&
^5=
^F g»—
i •• «^,. i i i
£^-^^-^-p
:^E5E?E
z_.*z:i=. - LJ — L- - > — U-
E • rin gobragh! Oh! bu-ried and cold, when my heart stills its mo - tion, Green
• • thy fields, sweetest isle of the o -cean, And thy harp-strik-ing bards sing a -
lii i
-* — i-*-
fr— i—
II
^F -^
loud with du - vo - tiou, Oh! E - rin, ma vour - neen! E - rin gobragh!"
-- • - J — 0
- • - * — --
"__•
- 5
~'
— « — «
_ _
tt~ ~~~\ -- d -- ~ — ~2 — ~ - i"l
« - * -- '- — * -- 1 - * — i --
•-• — ^ —
— ^-1— _,_-
I ISLE OF BEAUTY, FARE THEE WELL,
95
There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill,
For his country he sighed when at twilight re-
pairing,
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill :
But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion,
For it rose o'er his own native isle of the
ocean,
Where once in the fire of his youthful emotion,
He sang the bold anthem of Erin go bragh.
•"Oh! sad is my fate !" said the heart-broken
stranger,
" The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee;
But I have no refuge from famine and danger,
A home and a country remain not for me ;
Ah ! never again in the green shady bowers,
Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the
sweet hours,
Or cover my harp with the wild woven flowers,
And strike the sweet numbers of Erin go
bragh.
" Oh ! Erin, my country' tho' sad and forsaken,
In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore ;
But, alas ! in a far foreign land I awaken,
And sigh for the friends who can meet me no
more.
Ah ! cruel fate ! will thou never replace me
In a mansion of peace, where no perils can
chase me ?
Ah ! never again shall my brothers embrace me !
They died to defend me or live to deplore.
" Oh ! where is my cabin door, fast by the wild-
wood?
Sisters and sires, did you weep for its fall ?
Oh ! where is the mother that looked on my child-
hood ?
And where is the bosom friend dearer than all?
Ah, my sad heart ! long abandoned by pleasure,
Why didst thou doat on a fast fading treas-
ure ?
Tears like the rain-drop may fall without meas-
ure,
But rapture and beauty they cannot recall !
" But yet, all its sad recollections suppressing,
One dying wish my lone bosom shall draw,
Oh! Erin! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing!
Dear land of my forefathers, Erin go bragh !
Oh ! buried and cold, when my heart stills its
motion,
Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of the ocean,
And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with de-
votion,
Oh ! Erin, mavourneen ! Erin go bragh ! "
ISLE OF BEAUTY, FARE THEE WELL.
THE words of this favorite of years were written by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY, the
English writer of so many singable poems. The music was composed by THOMAS A.
BAWLINGS, who was the son of an eminent English musician, and was born in 1775. He
became distinguished as a composer, and as performer upon various instruments, and died
about 1833.
tQ.Af 1
f— I N 1 1
r~~ 1
^-J^-J=i=
^=^-7t=^
— ^— : ^ ^ j
d
-j — n — H
tJ
1 . Shades of eve - ning,
2. 'Tis the hour when
3. When the waves are
A
close not o'er us,
hap - py fa - ces
round me break- ing,
1 h
Leave our lone - 1
Smile a - round th
As I pace tli
-U— &-J3
Y
e
e
p*l
\—M. -J- h 1
bark a - while!
ta - per's light;
deck a - lone,
ZHE -f — i — r
J • J «-
-S-: — J ; * *
•H-
^ — ~1*^ 1 1
y-4 fl : i — J — E
__*_= 5 2 J— ,
J . J S >
• —
j 4 J J J — 1
3 -*• -5- i i
r."=:=^-=l
^ r f
•f" f* (• "*
i.
J^"^:
frs-^- r ' r — ? — f-
U • » i • —
_!...[ p
%
M?-^ £ — E — r~
-t- — — b1 1 h—
4-,— j,-^ — f
9
-f — r
i C I I
i i
96
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
Morn, a - las! will not re -store us Yon - der dim
Who will fill our va - cant pla - ces? Who will sing
And my eye in vain is seek - ing Some green leaf
and
our
to
dis -
songs
rest
taut Isle;
to - night?
up - on;
•y.
— N —
n~
JS,
S
n
V Still, my fan - cy
Thro' the mist that
What would not I
A i -r — i — r
can dis - cov - er Sun - ny spots where friends may dwell ;
floats a-bove us, Faint - ly sounds the ves - per bell;
give to wan - der Where my old com - pan - ions dwell?
i — 1 N — 1 1 — i — i s 1 1 — i — 1 — — ^ 1 ^ — i
- p .! • -*J d •• UJ
&— JT-«=|F=^
•*•• -5 S
— b"* — —
c ^
u -
I
9-
d ' « " •
a • a •> »
-5-' -5- ^ *
f"J; f" f" ^
^ :
L-f-» — 5: — :
ritard
p=
^ dim.
^? — — ^ ^ —
—] 1 — |-
— «
g
•
'• '
»— '{j 1* . U p •
P • F f
f ~
p * *
— » —
3
1
[
N —
1 1
b i is i
A f>f>
"V
^ n
-r— ^ \\
JL\> 1 K 1 |
J. / —
£
j — — \ —
1 — 1—
KU-... * • J — * -*H
-
t
<
t-r J— 1
i * —
J • II
Dark - er sha - dows round us hov - er, Isle of Beau - ty, Fare thee well!
Like a voice from those who love us, Breath - ing fond - ly, Fare thee well I
Ab - sence makes the heart grow fond - er, Isle of Beau - ty, Fare thee well!
W
Shades of evening, close not o'er us,
Leave our lonely bark awhile !
Morn, alas ! will not restore us
Yonder dim and distant isle;
Still my fancy can discover,
Sunny spots where friends may dwell ;
Darker shadows round us hover,
Isle of Beauty, Fare thee well!
'Tis the hour when happy faces,
Smile around the taper's light!
Who will fill our vacant places !
Who will sing our songs to night?
Thro' the mist that floats above us,
Faintly sounds the vesper bell ;
Like a voice from those who love us,
Breathing fondly Fare thee well !
When the waves are round me breaking,
As I pace the deck alone,
And my eye in vain is seeking
Some green leaf to rest upon ;
What would not I give to wander,
Where my old companions dwell ?
Absence makes the heart grnw fonder,
Isle of Beauty, Fare thea well !
MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS.
MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS.
9?
THE first four lines of this song are from an old ballad called " The Strong Walls of
Deny," — which does not leave a great deal to be claimed by BURNS, who made the
remainder.
The old melody to which it is set is called " Portmore." The song was a favorite in
the repertoire of Henry Russell, set to music of his owu.
Harmonized as a Quartette, by Edward S. Cummins
Quartette
1. My heart's in the high - lands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the
2. My heart's in the high - lands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the
high - lands, a chas - ing the deer; A chas - ing the wild deer, and foil -'wing the
pip
z=:_q ^_ _^ — __i_^.__ ._^_
.„ j_
'* * —
high - lands, a chas - ing the deer ; A chas - ing the wild deer, and foil - 'wing the
roe, My heart's in the highlands,wherev - er I go. Farewell to the highlands, fare -
1=3=3
roe, My heart's in the highlands,wherev - er I go. Farewell to the mountains high,
-J_ J-, - I >- '"•+-*• ** * +~
^^-
=>=^=g=T=^ -- ^^{^ T*"f=^=:;
E^EtE
={=PV-H - -j— f- -- g— q
well to the north, The birth - place of val - or, the coun -try of worth ; Wher.
cov - ered with snow, Fare - well to the straths and green val- lies be - low; Fare -
A *-
— 44 1 0 0 T— | 1 T-| 0 9. . — | 1 j _| 0 . — . 0 --.
1111
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
s.
1 -1 H — 1 •
*r"^~j -_)
- ev- er I wandeivwher-ev - er 1 rove, The hills and the highlands for-ev - er I'll love.
well to the for-ests and wild-hanging woods, Farewell to the wa- ters and wild- pouring floods.
I'M SADDEST WHEN I SING.
THE words of this song were written by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY, and the air was
composed by SIR HENRY ROWLEY BISHOP.
Andante.
I.You think I have a mer - ry heart, Be - cause my songs are
2. I heard them first in that sweet house, I nev - er more shall
used to love, My harp
Its
o, r •
-f » M-+-+ 2 =
=t
-H-
•^
*^ oh!
now
— it*
they
each
all
song
were
of
1 —
taught
joy
"i — i
— t
to
has
me
got
Jt
7
-|J^-
friends
plain -
~^
0 ••
now far
tive turn 1
p=
-- (•
— b —
-* *—
f'~
~w —
-=l
— f —
._..._J_
-H~~
_J_
* faith -
•»- •
— iX —
ful
A
voice
.«.
still
«
seems
JL
to
A
be
JL
An
.A.
-i-0-z —
ech -
.«_ •
o
of n
b=;r w '— -^ 3==^
bird
• las!
re - tains
'tis vain
its sil - ver note, Tho' bond - age chains his wing;
in win - ter time, To mock the songs of spring;
His
Each
song
note
is not a hap - py
re - calls some with - er'd
. i__
one;
loaf;
I'm
I'm
sad - dest when
sad - dest when
sing-
sing.
those who hear me
.J_
lit - tie think I'm sad
*-%— ' — *
• dest when I
;is
i
IF THOU WEKT BY MY 8WL\
9ft
IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE.
REGINALD HEBER was born at Malpas, Cheshire, England, April 21, 1783. He took
high honors at Oxford University, and afterward was distinguished for learning and piety.
He was settled in the living of Hodnut, when he accepted the bishopric of Calcutta. He waa
unwearied in his missionary work, and it was while he was travelling on the Ganges, to
visit the mission stations, that the following lines to his wife were written. Bishop Heber
•lied in India, April 23, 1826.
The music of the song was composed by SIDNEY NELSON.
Moderate.
1. If thou wert by my side, my love, How fast would eve - ning fail,
T N
—
2. I miss thee at the dawn - ing gray, When, on our deck re - clined, In
•*• •*• •*- •*• •*• .
|» -* !p "P f T "H"-^ ^" 1 ^ ^ '-
:=JEfc=t=£=ii={=E=====^=
ip^>i — fcdl - - (*-? — « — p —
*/ ¥'¥•'*
-T:
V—
-?-
green Ben- gal - a's palm • y grove, List -'ning the night -in - gale.
If
care • less ease my limbs I lay, And woe the cool - er wind.
l&=—
^&=
•~[v^r~j_ . ^
=3= 3=
• ;^r **— t-
-*-J
^^33$^^^
5te=
thou, my love, wert by my side, My ba - bies at my knee, How
/^\
:Jv:
— V
~K—
-R
=IEj~^=
— + d !
--N-
-*-=-
S
S^g^i^3E
r^ -^4 -i-^— — *— ->
miss thee, when by Gun - ga's stream My twi - light steps I guide ;
But
g?i - ly would our pin - uace glide O'er Gun - ga's mi - mic sea.
most be - neath the lamp's pale beam, I miss thee from my side !
• c I
:rife=: =i *— zzfcr :~ f~ f — T~ T~t~
5 r ^ u^ *•
V S
.V V
100
OUR FAMILIAR SONGi*.
If thou wert by my side, my love,
How fast would evening fail,
In green Bengala's palmy grove
List'ning the nightingale.
If thou, my love, wert by my side,
My babies at my knee,
How gaily would our pinnace glide,
O'er Gunga's mimic sea.
I miss thee at the dawning gray.
When, on our deck reclined,
!n careless ease my limbs I lay,
And woo the cooler wind.
I miss thee, when by Gunga's stream,
My twilight steps I guide ;
But most beneath the lamp's pale beam,
I miss thee from my side !
I spread my books, my pencil try,
The lingering noon to cheer;
But miss thy kind, approving eye,
Thy meek, attentive ear.
But when of morn and eve the star
Beholds me on my knee,
I feel, though thou art distant far,
Thy prayers ascend for me.
Then on, then on, where duty leads,
My course be onward still;
O'er broad Hindostan's sultry meads,
O'er bleak Almorah's hill.
That course, nor Delhi's kingly gates,
Nor wild Malwah detain :
For sweet the bliss us both awaits,
By yonder western main !
Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright they say.
Across the dark blue sea;
But ne'er were hearts so light and gay
As then shall meet in thee !
THE CARRIER DOVE.
DANIEL JOHNSON, the composer of the " Carrier Dove," was a music-teacher in New
York, about 1850. He was a choral-singer at the Park Theatre, conductor of music at
Palmo's concert saloon, and a singer of English glees. There is no clue to the author of
the words.
jM4r4r — s-
sptf
;
b^- -f-t
•— —g-
— 9
;
-
, -Z
H— 4
' p; * £_-p.|
f 1
1. Fly
2. Oh!
3. I
£
H -
shall
way to my na - tive
fly to her bower, and
miss thy vis - it at
— i
land,
say
dawn,
— ^ — — * — t — i
sweet dove ! Fly a -
the chain, Of tin;
sweet dove I I shall
H- — 5 — ^ — = — *
! *
A
£~j 3T* 3~'
±
-r-
T = \
— e —
way to my na - tive
ty - rant Is o - ver me
miss thy vis - it at
land,
now,
eve!
And
That I
But
bear these lint-> to my
nev - er shall mount my
bring me a line from my
THE CARRIER DOVE,
101
ffa 1 " * * 1 1 1 f ^ 1* i 1 * 1
b b **^
la - dy love, That I've trac'd with a fee - ble hand. She
steed a - gain, With hel - met up - on my brow; No
la - dy love, And then I shall cease to grieve! I
. „ -• -*-
«*•-- *r — -S 1 — ' — ' — — S — — i — 1~^ — 1 ; — T~T 9
'> 0 \ 0 :1 • f •••
2 f! f! "T"1" E3 EE -
,Jt 1 J J ' J J
c\*t{ S ' i i
•f *l *f °f *f
If j ]J
~ J 7__ jJ " j " _
• '^.
3F
mar - vels much at my long de - lay, A ru - mor of death she has
friend to my lat - tice a sol - ace brings, Ex - cept when your voice is
can bear in a dun - geon to waste away youth ; I can fall oy the conqueror's
s s
^a=
heard,
heard,
sword;
i i
Or she thinks, per - haps, I false - ly stray, Then
When you beat the bars with your snow - y wings — Then
But I can -not en - dure She should doubt my truth — Then
AS ft i f J i » "
^ i •—•-•-
fly to her bower, sweet
fly to her bower, sweet
by to her bower, sweet
3ird.
bird,
bird.
££ *
^JLX£ rt_
1^** "
:p_fj ^_T-j! g|
,±*
M i — ^— t
£~-,-~**£
Rj, OUJt FAMILIAR SONGS.
O, TAKE ME BACK TO SWITZERLAND.
THE words of this little song were written by MRS. NORTON, to a Tyrolese air. It
was Jenny Lind's rendering of it which introduced it in the United States, and made it
popular.
IJE— ! — F
• * • +
1. By the dark waves of the roll -ing ,ea, Where the white-sail'd ships are toss - ing free,
2. I see its hills, I see it** streams ItM ~>lue lakes haunt my rest - less dreams :
3. For mouths a -long that gloom -y shore Mid sea-bird's cry and o - cean's roar,
^
Came a youth-fulmaid-en, Pale and sor row la den, With amourn-ful voice sang she: "Oh.
When the day de - clin - eth, Or tne bright sun shin-eth, Fro • sent still its beau - ty seems : Oh,
rf?=m
m
5
Sang that mournful maid -en, Pale and aor-row la den, Then her voice was heard no more. For
• f F-
fefeEf
take
take
me back to Switz er - kand, My own my dear, my na • i>ve .and; i'l.
me back to S-^itz - er land, Up ot the moun-tain let me stand: Where
,
^
^4
far a - way from switz - er - land, From home, from friends, from na - live land- Where
R^: \ I M
IA i
P3 r- « i
— i
9
i —
N-
-R f— f
— A — ~5^ — in
I — i H
§fr- J-!- *—
brave all dan - gen
flow're are bright, and
ad* f — !• — r
H^ — ^ — *-• — ^H
of the main, To
skies are clear, For
• f\
f * ^ b "-J,J'
see my own dear Ian3 t» •
oh! I pine, I per - ish
1 h K fr 1
gain,
here!
H
fe -^-^-=^=^1^ j' j. ji
for - eign wild - flow'rs cold - ly wave, The
bro - ken heart - ed found a
-f — f — r • f f • f
IP
grave.
-$ — H
^ .1
v E B
L
' r -f
•
rr C E
^-e-r ^
-r — H
THE PILGRIM FATHERS,
10:J
THE PILGRIM FATHERS.
WE owe "The New England Hymn/' the finest Puritan lyric we have, to an English
woman, FELICIA HEMANS, whose spirit was strongly susceptible to the religious romance
and heroism that brought the pilgrims across the ocean in search of a new home. Why
has no one set to music Holmes's lyric that closes :
" Yes, when the frowning bulwarks
That guard this holy strand,
Have sunk beneath the trampling surge —
In beds of sparkling sand;
While in the waste of ocean
One hoary rock shall stand,
Be this its latest legend —
Here was the Pilgrim's Laud ! "
The music of Mrs. Hemans's song was written by her sister, Miss BROWNE, and perhaps
we owe our possession of this, and her other beautiful airs, to Sir Walter Scott and
Moscheles. The latter was visiting Scott, and, upon leaving, promised Sir Walter that he
would find a London publisher for " some pretty songs set to music by a Miss Browne, with
words by her sister, Felicia Hemans." Moscheles' diary records their publication.
« .u. N _ i i
:'f-
The break- ing waves dashed high, On a stern and rock - bound coast ; And
•f-
3
±
t - -
woods a - gainst a storm - y sky, Their gi - ant branch - es tossed,
0
5g=gii:
gE=F=
^
f5EEf
t-
iH
:z 3
* — r 8
32:
And the heav - y night hung dark,
The hills and wa - ters o'er, When a
N
J
1 n S
J * /
/•^•tt f f
i r r r
E
C2Si L • U
1 111
L^ VI M
I
j
B—S—tj *j
SStt f ff
.,» • i* U 1
_, J 1
^ A f t/
7S. -»
1 J IS1
;fm •*
i • m
IS
*1 * i-
• ' i
•
J - J p
' * j !
1)!
V
nd of ex - il
, • i_|
rrr *• *
es moored their bark On the
. k. ° ^
wild New Eng - land
shore.
lP~7"4t
= r — r — i
^=^-f^
E= — 4=*=-t
~f • 1
I/ & lh
/i. 5
p
1 N V
fc-tz^
A—^-^
at— fcri
3=F5R=
*— r * — '
— K K—
^ • ^ — ^ — ^—
~F H
— * +-. J —
Not as the
-^ j 1 3 —
con - queror comes,
^
J j „
— »i— — *i—
* - o
They, the
3Fi-^-dS-^^=J
true - heart - ed, came;
J ' J
SjpEEz
i — r=r^
-f-i- 1 f-^- i
\—& — • —
ziT^-
^r-f^^^-
=
•*
t- ..-£—=£
— *-R
- — F 5
y — — 5
,^. /_! — u_
!
104
01' ft FAMILIAR XONGS.
Not with the roll of the stir - ring drums, Or tbetrum-pet that sings of fame;
N ^ * N i
shook the depths of the des - ert's gloom. With their hymns of loft - y cheer.
— f"— ^ 0 ' 0 I IV \—
A-midst the storm they sang! And the stars heard and the seal And the sounding aisles of the
:f=£
-0 — • — 0-^—0-
-4 L_ 1_- L_—
££
?^
fes
-x-2 *
33
C-— -
• g ^. J.' j£r
-0- -&-
- them of the free !
dim woods rang To the an
+ -- 0 *-
The o - cean ea - gle soar'd From his
1
% X ^
3±=$--
-v — $
f=f
-*-= — »
^:-<-8 *'>
n. ,t liy Hi.- white waves'foam, And the rockingpinesof the forest roar'd ; This was their welcome home.
j^. Jv J J N N ^ -f- -^-' .
P
,'hat sought they thus a- far y Rright jew - elsbright jew-els,bright jew -els of the min,-? The
'. 0\ rm P
THE PILGRIM FATHERS.
N, <C\ /Tv
^Pr-r
[s * JS-
i • '"^i ii~
,
r— =\ 1
1-
N •*
~B — ^~^
1 1
4--J
^H
^ &
wealth
i of seas, the spoils of war?Theysoughtafaith'spureshrine.
K -- 1
~* — * — *-» — 4 i e — • tf i *g - — '
1 ^L V J. -^T
^ T * -*-
Aye ! call it ho
r^ 1 1— +-
*~?
i C
- lyground,T
he
^
.^•i*^
— I
g -
__| C
—
^ f-
. r f 1 1
— j
^^ S ' —
-V b f— ^ E--f ^ ^-
":2Z
—
L y
— |
A +t
i
—
C r J
P V
J
y .
H
xf jf |
— i y J . js-j — t—
-4
— « —
— \ — —
^F) — ~~ — J"
1 1_
f g -^ — f—
*
— n
«
«-J
— *- — * —
— 1
4 *:*:*:£ " r " IT r + • *
spot where first they trod, They have left unstain'd what there they found, Freedom to wor-sh
jiii- L_1_J i . - * •<••• - J
•P
/'^"f 9
• j j
§\ ' \j I F
^
P i
= 0 •
p r •
|?-'*"J* ' 1
— i — 4 — 4-
** \j *i
— ^
(»— : —
-J -3-
4-
—5 — h
^ * J J jrf ^
—^—* EE ^
1 h
--F —
-f — <st—
U —
I —
A +f
i
K
y «>
h ^
j
P
s
X S
N» J J\
a
J
@>
t —
1 — j-
l^r-
ff
— J —
3^-3 — b — iri — f — f — f ' f
God! They have left un-stain'd what there
J^IAJ 1 1 _
r r
they found, Free-dom
*
to
— 1 —
wor -
T"3~
ship God!
I ' D
r F W J
{C •
i^y*ff^ ^
v» 1, k
r i*
r
f? M
Vfc-x-fi-'
!^ K !?_
j — i — | — r — f-
__J
3 -
I—
33;
The breaking waves dashed high,
On a stern and rock-bound coast ; .
And the woods against a stormy sky,
Their giant branches tossed:
And the heavy night hung dark,
The hills and waters o'er,
When a band of exiles moor'd their bark,
On the wild New England shore.
Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted, came !
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
Or the trumpet that sings of fame ;
Not as the flying come,
In silence and in fear,
They shook the depths of the desert's gloom,
With their hymns of lofty cheer.
Amidst the storm they sang!
And the stars heard and the sea!
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang,
To the anthem of the free !
The ocean eagle soared
From his nest by the white waves' foam,
And the rocking pines of the forest roared;
This was their welcome home !
There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band: —
Why had they come to wither there,
Away from childhood's land?
There was woman's fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love's truth ;
There was manhood's brow serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.
What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine ?
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?
They sought a faith's pure shrine.
Aye ! call it holy ground,
The spot where first they trod,
They have left unstained what there they found,
Freedom to worship God.
CHEER, BOYS, CHEER.
THE words of this spirited song were written by CHARLES MACKAY; the music
was composed by HENRY EUSSELL. In 1843, Russell went home, and sang with great suc-
cess in England, Scotland, and France. During that visit he composed music for several
songs of Charles Mackay's, which he rendered with great effect, at Niblo's, in New York, on
his return. The London Athenaeum, in 1856, said : "Dr. Charles Mackay has been voiceless
for some years. Echoes of his old music are still common in the streets where youngsters
delight to warble ' Cheer, boys, cheer !' and in merry meeting-places, where folks are fond
of anticipating 'The good time coming."7
Boldly.
fc fc. 1 ^ L_
^ ^ T T" n*< I
1. Cheer, boys, cheer,
2. Cheer, boys, cheer,
no
the
more of
stead - y
i - die sor - row, Cour - age,
breeze is blow - ing, To float
-£-k-
-t
true
us
hearts
free
shall
106
OUR FAMILIAR SONUS.
— — ^- — M— T r — ~l K -I m it —
i=EEe=8=^=-^— *=$•-.
bear us on our way; Hope points be -fore and shows the bright to - mor - row,
o'er the o-ceau's breast; The world shall fol - low in the track we're go - ing,
1 — * y — ~ r« —
!^:^==i^=g;^= E3EEH
jt — L. * • — * * . — 0 — ^ •=L-*— — 0 0 «-f-J
Let us for - get
The star of En
the dark-ness of to-day. So, fare -well, Eng-land,
pire glit - ters in the West- Here we had toil and
t-=nii=£=*= =f=;=q
0. m «_•._» . m —
t? 1 — >" 7
7-
=t
-X? 3» — *znS=-:_Mz:Jiizi
i> *V
much as we a - dore thee, We'll dry the tears
lit - tie to re - ward it, But there shall plen
fc==*±=ft=*
that we have shed be-fore ;
ty smile up - on our pain ;
-, — — -
^z- ^=S^j3
* '»
S
Why should we weep to sail in search of for - tune? So, fare -well, Eng-land! fare -
And ours shall be the prai-rie and the for - est, And bound - less meadows ripe,
•*• -0- ' -0 -0- • 0- -^ + -»-+-*- +- ' +- A- ' 0- ', •»- -0-
. t=P* • :t=q
-
- -fc»— —4- i -|fc
>-g« —
=> V 'rf-
:J=:-
T-HT-
- well for - ev - er - more.
Cheer, boys, cheer, for couu-try, mo-ther conn -try,
Eng - land,
ripe with gol - den grain. Cheer, boys, cheer, for Eng - land, mo - ther Eng - lai
*' > riiJEiElEiipE z=p==
— f f f •— .=t=tii5=ix=z?=i_>_
V ¥ V . Y
Cheer, boys, cheer, the will - ing strong right hand,
Cheer, boys, cheer, u - nit - ed heart and hand,
-r!S—
Cheer, boys, dicer, th'-n-'s
^^*^=^£=
S-0- -0- *• . m
I 1 I i -I ( 1 •. T r-
^Efr=^^=-j*=z:=g* f—
TTr — H"- — - — j— — H— T-J— :— g-jzrj. — *-T — >< »; — «s K — pr
U
wealth for hon - est la - bour, Cheer, boys, cheer, for the new and hap - py land !
fe£3l3l-B:i ^}|l^^^^i^5^qnj3~
2»- / ^ ^ C ,j B
SONGS OF THE SEA,
O happy ship,
To rise and dip,
With the blue crystal at your Up!
O happy crew,
My heart with you
Sails, and sails, and sings anew I
— Thomas Buchanan R«ad.
Our country is our ship, d'ye see I
- James Cobb.
A fatal ebbe and flow, alas !
To manye more than myne and me.
—Jean Ingelovt.
O calm, distant haven, where the clear starlight gleams
On the wild, restless waters, on the heart's restless dreamt,
How oft, gazing upward, my soul yearns to be
In that far world of angels, where is no more seal
— Caroline Elisabeth Norton.
SONGS OF THE SEA,
THE SEA.
BRYAN WALLER PROCTER (" Barry Cornwall"), produced a great variety of literature,
but he is most widely known and best appreciated for his exquisite songs. Of these, his
song of "The Sea," is perhaps the best remembered. He was born in London, in 1790,
spent a long and outwardly uneventful life there among warm friends and admirers, and
there died, October 4, 1874.
The air of this song was composed by a singular musical character, who went to Lon-
don in 1830, and became very intimate with Procter. This was SIGISMOND NEUKOMM, Chev-
alier, a German composer, born at Salzburg, July 10, 1778. He was musically educated
by Joseph Haydn, who was his relative. He had opportunities for study and travel, and
became so well-informed as to receive, among his friends, the nick-name of " Cyclopaedia."
At the house of Ignatz Moscheles, in London, Neukomm and Mendelssohn met frequently.
Moscheles, in his diary, tells us, that, although they became friendly, their mutual appre-
ciation was confined to the social virtues ; for Neukomm thought Mendelssohn " too im-
petuous, noisy, and lavish in the use of wind instruments, too exaggerated in his tempo, and
too restless in his playing;" while the glorious young musical genius, would turn impa-
tiently on his heel, exclaiming, " If only that excellent man, Neukomm, would write better
music ! He speaks so ably, his language and letters are so choice, and yet his music —
how commonplace ! "
Chorley, in his musical recollections, gives us a picture which makes us feel that Men-
delssohn's judgment was far too lenient. He says : "Of all the men of talent I have ever
known, Chevalier Neukomm was the most deliberate in turning to account every gift, every
talent, every creature-comfort to be procured from others ; withal, shrewd, pleasant, uni-
versally educated beyond the generality of musical composers of his period. A man who
had been largely 'knocked about,' and had been hardened into the habit or duty of knock-
ing any one whom he could fascinate into believing in him. Never was any man more
adroit in catering for his own comforts — in administering vicarious benevolence. Once
having gained entrance into a house, he remained there, with a possession of self-posses-
sion the like of which I have never seen. There was no possibility of dislodging him, save
at his own deliberate will and pleasure. He would have hours and usages regulated
in conformity with his own tastes ; and these were more regulated by. individual whimsy
than universal convenience. He must dine at one particular hour — at no other. Having
embraced homo3opathy to its fullest extent, he would have his own dinner expressly made
and provided. The light must be regulated to suit his eyes — the temperature to n't his
210
OUR FAMILIAR UONGX.
eudurance. But, as rarely tails to be the case, iu this world of shy or sycophantic persons,
he compelled obedience to his decrees ; and, on the strength of a slender musical talent, a
smooth, diplomatic manner, and some small insight into other worlds than his own, he
maintained a place, in its lesser sphere, as astounding and autocratic as that of the great
Samuel Johnson, when he ruled the household of the Thrales with a rod of iron. Neukoinm
hail no artistic vigor or skill to insure a lasting popularity for his music. It has past, and
gone to the limbo of oblivion. Yet, for some five years he held a first place in England
and was in honored request at every provincial music-meeting. He was at Manchester.
at Derby, where, I think, his oratorio of 'Mount Sinai' was produced; most prominent at
Birmingham, for which he wrote his unsuccessful 'David.'* I question whether a note of
his music lives in any man's recollection, unless it be 'The Sea,' to the spirited and stirring
words of Barry Cornwall. This song made at once a striking mark on the public ear and
heart The spirited setting bore out the spirited words; and the spirited singing and say-
ing of both, by Mr. Henry Phillips, had no small share in the brilliant success."
Neukomm became partially blind in his later years, and died in Paris, April 3, 1858.
Mr. Phillips, in his " Recollections," says: ''Neukomm sent me a note, saying he had
composed a song for me — would I come to his apartments and hear it? He was then an
attach^ of the French Ambassador, who resided iu Portland Place. I accordingly went,
was very kindly and politely received; he sat down to his pianoforte and played, and in his
way sang, the song. I was unable to make any remark upon it; for I was anything but
pleased, and candidly confess I thought he had written it to insult me. I brought the
manuscript home, and on singing it over was strengthened in my former opinion. The
more I tried it, the more displeased I was. I felt, however, that I was bound to sing it ; I
could not again refuse his offer. So it was scored for the orchestra, and I was to intro-
duce it at a grand morning concert, given by Nicholson, at the Italian Opera Concert-Room.
I went very downcast, and felt assured that I should be hissed out of the orchestra. This
much-dreaded song was ' The sea, the sea, the open sea.' The orchestra led off the
long symphony which precedes the air. In an instant I heard the master hand over the
score ; I felt suddenly inspired, sang it with all my energy, and gained a vociferous encore.
The whole conversation of the day was the magnificent song I had just sung. My friend,
Mori, who led the band, asked me if I thought he could obtain it for ten guineas. I told
him I did not think five tens would purchase it. ' Well,' said he, ' I'll think of it.' He did ;
and while he was thinking, Mr. Frederick Beale paid Neukomm a visit, in anxious hope of
obtaining the song, while Addison stood watching from the first-floor window over the shop
in Regent street, for Beale's return. Presently he caught sight of Mm, when Beale waved
the manuscript triumphantly in the air; it was theirs, and realized a fortune. I believe
they got it for fifty guineas."
• In the United States, it was remarkably successful.
THE NBA.
Ill
Z L_ ZJ> :
., — IT*— wzT], TT ,
— 0 — P— E— J4- - ..
•0 \- r EE*
blue, the fresh, the ev - er free, the ev - er, ev - er free!
1
{
-T *:_*
+•_•£• •*-
i — t — t—
Without a mark, with - out a
F^P3ffi±f
i — j; L-H' i i 1 =
-* 0-0-0 *
*S-=£i£=£=-l=M—^S==3$^
t_|i— — f — f — p 1 _ — i—f i^S^ — i H»^^
^-- ' ! ' 't^r-r|j:^^^^=^g
fp
3=
bound, It run-neth the earth's wide re - gions round.
#5
it
ifzE^E^lIz ESE;
— * ^-t
plays
withthe clouds,
it mocks .......... the skies,
Or
— ^p^n — -r— - — — ^ ~~^^ — T~~ ~x^i — i »"'"" — T~ i*a*^^^H "I
;}Edg=Jg^EJ
T-^ r^
_
jir,.^ — zpiMii^r _zz'q=^;T=^=zi=q^c=i==r==qi—
=if5rE -^— EEEEfcEEizS =£-*-• -- *-^^
*— 3-ty- -- -f±=t==f= t -- f= _f_^*_,_!
like a era « died crea - ture lies, Or like a era - died crea - ture
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
lies.
J
f
=^=£3EEE3==p^E _q£
*zi2_ .,_. 1 ,_r,-__
I'm on the Sea!
I'm on the Sea!
— • «
3^F=^^
/
/
I I
am where I would ev - er be, With the blue a - bove, and the blue be - low, And
^=efe
--S S-
si - lence where -so - e'er I go. If a storm ^. should
\ ~
tztate: -\f.
H — ' — * — ]
'*=*=3=-
:=3tz= ^i DH
and a - wake the deep,
What
»v
/
THE SEA.
113
I shall ride and sleep.
-0 0 — 0
: T i
_^_ , ^ L_ ^ — . . ,L-.-*^^T , ^^jX. . J. [_ n .-,1
mat-ter? what mat - ter?
( I
/
I shall ride and sleep.
IzEEJiSzf^^
Boatswain'swhistle.
I love, Oh how I love to ride
On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide !
When every mad wave drowns the moon,
Or whistles aloft his tempest tune,
And tells how goeth the world below,
And why the sou'-west blast doth blow !
I never was on the dull, tame shore,
But I loved the great sea more and more,
A.nd backward flew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest ;
And a mother she was, and is to me,
For I was born on the open sea.
The waves were white, and red the morn,
In the noisy hour when I was born ;
And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold ;
And never was heard such an outcry wild
As welcomed to life the Ocean child.
I have lived, since then, in calm and strife,
Full fifty summers a sailor's life,
With wealth to spend, and a power to range,
But never have sought or sighed for change:
And Death, whenever he come to me,
Shall come on the wide, unbounded sea.
(8)
114
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
BARNEY BUNTLINE.
THK delightfully absurd song of " Barney Buntline" was written by WILLIAM Pin,
Esq., of the British navy. He was master-attendant at Jamaica Dock-yard, and was after-
ward stationed at Malta, where he died in 1840. The air is an old English one, to which
these words were set by JOHN DAVY, composer of the famous air, " Bay of Biscay."
Harmonized by Edward S. Gumming*.
One night came on a bur - ri - cane, the sea was moun-tains roll - ing, When
-9- £
Bar- ney Bunt - Hue turn'd liU quid, and said to Bil - ly Bow -ling: "A
-0- +- -f- •»-•»- _ •*!__*•___*
- _ - _ - -- - L - -
===^ ^)~^— =ii=J=:
r£ 1 , f( « J- « 0 « 1 ? « J
— * * ^— — I 1 — — *— — * — — * * *— ~ 0 *—l—9—
strong sou'- wes - tier's blow - ing, Bill, O can't you hear it roar now; God
' — * — — ^ -f — — | f *• f f —
• S
-jf-t n—
K—
— fc —
— N •
—
k> w
^ 1 , k.
N —
^ —
fcfr—
£iz_ t
^P —
P —
~f~
i" — i~~ i ' i^ 3~ J ?~ ' < ' *~^
f
*~
* » 99 9 jt f 9
/
r
help
'em,
how
1
pit -
i.> all
un - hap
- py
folks
a -
shore,
now !"
^.I~f~
tFJ't m
— » —
— 0 —
-£=
— 0 —
=£_.
— » •-
-_;_[-*-
4
*-
1
— *
— i
/5-
-j=l=
Szf-
i —
— * —
5
-V — ^
^-^ i-»
0
1
0
— • —
«
— i
-— V
CHORUS.
Bow, wow, wow,
rum - li id - dy, rum - ti id - dy. Bow, wow, wow.
F
*— =£;-=$— ii=z:
One night came on a hurricane, the sea was moun-
tains rolling,
When Barney Buntline turned his quid, and said
to Billy Bowling :
" A strong sou'-wester's blowing, Bill, O can't you
you hear it roar now;
God help 'em, how I pities all unhappy folks
ashore, now!
Bow, wow, wow, &c.
" Fool-hardy chaps as lives in towns, what danger
they are all in !
And now they're quaking in their beds for fear
the roof should fall in.
Poor creatures, how they envies us, and wishes,
I've a notion,
For our good luck in such a storm to be upon
the ocean.
Bow, wow, wow, &c.
BARNEY BUNT LINE.
" Then, as to them kept out all day on business
from their houses,
And, late at night, are walking home to cheer
their babes and spouses,
While you and I upon the deck are comfortably
My eye, what tiles and chimney pots about their
heads are flying !
Bow, wow, wow, &c.
" And often have we seamen heard how men are
killed and undone,
By overturns in carriages, and thieves, and fires
in London ;
We've heard what risks all landsmen run, from
noblemen to tailors,
So Bill, let us thank Providence, that you and I
are sailors."
Bow, wow, wow, &c.
THE WHITE SQUALL.
THE words of " The White Squall" were written by Captain JOHNS, of the Marines,
British navy, and the air was made by GEORGE A. BARKER. The latter was a well-known
English musician, and was first tenor in the Princess' Theatre, London, thirty years ago.
He died in Ley church, in 1877.
1. The sea...
2. They near'd
was
the
bright and the bark rode
laud wherein beau - ty
well,,
smiles,.
The
The
•*• ^ m ^^ -0- s *- — - •*• ' -f^Z^ -0- ^^s -0- -0-
u J_ _j J J_ J — __j — J^ J
i ^ C "~ ^**^ — — ._ . — k. k,— . '-±. k..-_ .
— -*. * )t* ^* '-^-*-
breeztT bore the tone of the ves - per bell! . 'Twas a gal - lant
sun - - ny shore of the Gre - cian Isles. All thought of
/r
- _ __ ___ -- — - _ — _ -
Y-%- *> --- :— -;?=:S— }-•-'-
6 — i— ==}
lESE^l
bark with crew as
home, of that wel - come
brave
dear
As ev - er
Which soon should
launch'd
greet
116
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
EEJEE , , •~pv FIF^'
V-- /<
heav - ing wave, As ev - er launch'd on the heav
wan - d'rerV ear, Which soon should greet each wan
^ — I-^*"^ ~^X — .X - \
^zzisB^^pinii^^: i:^<_:
I~. — — . . — i — -— ~~-- —
==*px=f=±*=r^*- +—*^+==3=jp=r- :j^=ip=g=^=
^ ^ if:— : p=tzz_ _^ — ^ — '>_! =t^=^-^_
each
wave,.... She shone in the light.... of de - clin - ing day And eac
ear And in fan - cy join'd.... the so - cial throng, In the
,__| 1 ,_|
-f — ?-
/
=iE3=^=;
E?Ei3-ZE^
3=^=3
,
'•*
was set. And each heart was gay; She shoue in the
res - tive dance And the joy - ous song, And in fan-cy
ing day ,".7"... And each sail was set and each
cial throng In the fes - tive dance and the
. de-clin
Join'd — the so
=£§E?fi:^| EfeS^^^^eE Ej^Eifez^E
— — -— . *--*-m-l. _ — t- • • T~^— T = — I — i 1
^^ — — ^^^ — i — \-9-L cnz
heart was
so - cial
THE WHITE SQUALL.
117
gay. •
song.
m - ^
KZ==£=
zz^ii^r- ==i=q= ^—^1=^=1-^
^: =ir= =j-^^j:^^=j=:
m
•ff*t — i
A white cloud glides through the a - zure
sky,.
What
b=__,_^_^_5_?_l=a_^ L_^__*_ :fc_,_^_^_SS~:-j=
that wild
des -pair
ing
cry?
-if—
' J
*:
11 Andante con espressione. ~ — =—
Fare- well ! the vision'd scenes of home, Fare - well, tl
- -^
Fare - well, the vision'd scenes of
-s
g^=^*=^g=^=^==^^:fe*=b£:- =fer-£
:±^==F= =P= =7=1 ±f= =z=|rz=i=?=|=
f==--F^ =*
a
4fc=
Recit. Ardito.
K=2=
home!
That cry is " Help ! " where no help can come, That cry is
1
~« —
Ttt"
stacc.
r-
lib
OUJi FAMILIAR SONGS.
T
eg
help, where no help can come;
Fare - well, the vis - ion'd
£=
s*
iE
Fare - well, the vis - fon'd scenes of home.
or the white squall rides on the surg - ing wave, And the
I
** ^ ^r* 5:* ^:* 5^ ^* ^*
&
white gquall rides on the surg - ing wave, And the
^EE}E^EE5E-f=JE£=^E=^lE^ =£-?— H
^- =^= ^P
THE WHITE SQUALL.
119
bark
gulph'd in an o - cean's grave,
— * 0-
For the
I — S — ' — * — I — •
_p« -^- _ -^.
•*• -*•
white squall rides on the surg - ing wave. And the bark is
E
•0—i 0-
zN— -js-i-j
5-* — 9~*-T-
gulph'd in an o - cean's grave, For the white squall rides on the
> f-1] «U— p^ 1s > «— F
surg' - ing wave, And the bark.... is gulph'd
y
^
I ~ I
I =3 . J j^'T^ >. I— 1T1
tfcfcfc
I ! ' — \j — I — i i
E^
an o
cean's
grave,
""ISTfl ' ' 1 1 i >~ -1 ' — 1 1 ^ ^ ^ ^ —
-"ft-— n» — » — » — * — * — » — — 0 — 0 — *— — S — «— * — l-
r-jf — iffl — S~5 — l^g^^* — T j j^j — ~f — * — * — 4— -•— -»— g— « — 0. 0 ? * — f- g • • r — F —
F^^1
-:I
120
OUK FAMILIAR So
-j -= — J^d s — V „ f— -^— -»— • "H — 3
P ~^-"^fc3t=M=
cean's grave!.
-*_*!! — *_* — *— 1 -=t "•«iBF-
I i i — — — J -i— I
^¥=rrr=rT;iT?^p^=^P::=*I=i>:=:1= ^=f ^= ^P^^ =i^^z:
=fafcr ^— fe ^E-l
-j-i-t -+-+-* -+-0-9- -*•-*•-•• -*•-*--*•-* -*• '
•*• • •*• • 1*-.
^a=^E^f^ EEI-I
=I=f== zzt^SE1
THE STORM.
THE authorship of this song has been disputed. GEORGE ALEXANDER STEVENS was
born in London, England, but the exact date is not known. He was an actor of no great
power, and between poor playing and hard drinking, his finances were in a not very flourish-
ing condition, when he hit upon a scheme for repairing them. He wrote an amazingly funny
mixture of wit and nonsense, entitled it " A Lecture on Heads," and gave it to a friend to
deliver. As might have been expected, the friend failed to catch the fine points of the
composition, and the "heads" fell as if severed on the block. Stevens picked them up
and stuck them on again, for a second round. Presto ! all the features were in their right
plares, and every pun was as plain as the nose on a man's face. The lecture was an im-
mense success, and became popular at once. Stevens delivered it amid "unbounded en-
thusiasm," in Great Britain and Ireland, and then brought it over to delight our staid
ancestors on this- side of the water. On going back to England, he attempted to lengthen
out the joke by adding "half-lengths," and "whole-lengths," but an over-drawn witticism
is a dismal thing, and nobody laughed with the disappointed comedian. The following is
an extract from a letter which he wrote while lying, for debt, in Yarmouth jail :
u The week's eating finishes my last waistcoat ; and next I must atone for my errors
on bread and water. A wig has fed me two days ; the trimming of a waistcoat as long ; a
pair of velvet breeches paid my washerwoman ; a ruffle shirt has found me in shaving.
THE STORM,
121
Hy coats I swallowed by degrees ; the sleeves I breakfasted upou for two weeks ; the
body, skirts, &c., served ine for dinner two months j rny silk stockings have paid my lodg-
ings, and two pair of new pumps enabled me to smoke several pipes. It is incredible
how my appetite (barometer-like) rises in proportion as my necessities make their ter-
rible advances. I here could say something droll about a stomach ; but it's ill jesting with
edged tools, and 1 am sure that is the sharpest thing about me."
The wonder of his composing so fine a lyric as "The Storm," has led to a doubt
whether he really did do it ; but, the truth is, that he wrote other songs so famous in their
day, that they were printed by various booksellers, without his consent, and very much to
his disadvantage. "The Storm" has been attributed to no one else except Falconer,
author of " The Shipwreck," and the only ground of such a claim was, that he might have
done it — that it was somewhat in his line. But Falconer is neither lyrical nor spirited, and
the picturesqueness of the song makes all but certain the claim of the actor-poet.
Stevens lived in an age of deep drinking ; and as the bowl was the especial iuspirer of
his verse, so it was the principal receiver of its praises. After several other unsuccessful
attempts, he returned to the delivery of " Heads," which he was finally able to sell for
money enough to pay for the last carousals of his life, which ended miserably in 1784.
The original air to which "The Storm" is set was called, with queer appropriate-
ness to the author's state, " Welcome, brother debtor." It appeared in a collection of
songs called "Calliope," published in 1730. Incledon, the English vocalist, sang "The
Storm " in this country with great effect.
1. Cease, rude Bo - ivas, blust'ring rail - er! List, ye land - men, all
broth -er sai - lor Sing the dan - gers of the
From bounding bil - lows first in mo - tion, When the dis - tant whirlwinds
&i
To the tern - pest trou - bled o - cean, Where the seas con - tend with skies.
122
• il'Il FAMILIAR SONGS.
Hark ! the boatswain hoarsely bawling, —
By topsail sheets and haulyards stand,
Down top-gallants quick be hauling,
Down your staysails, — hand, boys, hand !
Now it freshens, set the braces,
Quick the topsail-sheets let go ;
Luff, boys, luff, don't make wry faces,
Up your topsails nimbly clew.
Now all you at home in safety,
Sheltered from the howling storm,
Tasting joys by Heaven vouchsafed ye,
Of our state vain notions form.
Round us roars the tempest louder,
Think what fear our mind enthralls !
Harder yet it blows, still harder,
Now again the boatswain calls.
The topsail-yards point to the wind, boys,
See all clear to reef each course —
Let tlie foresheet go — don't mind, boys,
Though the weather should be worse.
O
Fore and aft the sprit-sail yard get,
Reef the mizzen — see all clear —
Hand up, each preventer-brace set —
Man the foreyards — cheer, lads, cheer!
Now the awful thunder's rolling,
Peal on peal contending clash ;
On our heads fierce rain falls pouring,
In our eyes blue lightnings flash :
One wide water all around us,
All above us one black sky ;
Different deaths at once surround us,
Hark! what means that dreadful cry?
The foremast's gone ! cries every tongue, out
O'er the lee, twelve feet 'bove deck ;
A leak beneath the chest-tree's sprung out —
Call all hands to clear the wreck.
Quick, the lanyards cut to pieces —
Come, my hearts, be stout and bold !
Plumb the well — the leak increases —
Four feet water in the hold !
While o'er the ship wild waves are beating,
We for our wives and children mourn;
Alas, from hence there's no retreating !
Alas, to them, there's no return !
Still the danger grows upon us,
Wild confusion reigns below ;
Heaven have mercy here upon us,
For only that can save us now.
O'er the lee-beam is the land, boys —
Let the guns o'erboard be thrown —
To the pump, come, every hand, boys,
See, our mizzenmast is gone.
The leak we've found, it cannot pour fast,
We've lightened her a foot or more ;
Up and rig a jury foremast — [shore.
She rights! — she rights! — boys, wear off
Now once more on joys we're thinking,
Since kind Heaven has spared our lives,
Come, the can, boys, let's be drinking
To our sweethearts and our wives :
Fill it up, about ship wheel it,
Close to the lips a brimmer join ; —
Where's the tempest now, who feels it?
None — our danger's drowned in wine.
THE MINUTE GUN AT SEA.
THE words of this song were written by K. S. SHARPE, an English song- writer, who was
bora in 1776, and died in 1822. The music was made by M. P. KING, a favorite English
composer, who began writing music early in this century. He wrote operas, oratorios,
etc., and composed the music for Arnold's " Up All Night," in which this song was em-
bodied as ;v duet. His sons were both noted as teachers of music, and performers on the
organ and pianoforte. They came to this country when young, lived in New York City for
many years, and died there about twenty-five years ago. The eldest was Charles King,
who arranged numerous songs, glees, etc. The younger brother, W. A. King, was for
many years organist and conductor of music in Grace Church, and was deemed the finest
organist in New York. He also conducted and arranged at the fashionable concerts of
thirty years ago ; was distinguished as an accompanist, and as a solo performer on the
pianoforte. His "Grace Church Collection of Sacred Music" was called the most merito-
rious publication of the kind that was ever issued in this country.
THE MINUTE GUN AT SEA.
1st Voice.
T\
-N-T • —
m
Let him who sighs iu sad - ness here, re - joice and know :i friend is near.
2d Voice. /Tx
— ^-i -•— — fr — F~~'£~pq~ — qr^r= — •— \~fs- 9 ~r — ' —
AYhat thrill-ing sounds are those I hear! What be - ing comes the gloom to cheer?
Moderate.
Moderate. *-»i^. ,. i****! lf-\
u_4f _ K S I I * I P" _ I S \^ -fr
pfcJEaEE^^^. ! |i!SE =^1 1— =|^=^=?=:= -E3=£
~ i— *-*-*-^r—. jr*-* f '- -«-!-» * *- -*-
1. AVhen in the storm on Al - bion's coast The night - watch guards his
p»^ ^^ ***^
r-
=3i=
<—+
^2~ ==T= — ,=3-
fcEEfc =g= — *~ nn:=: —I q— |r*-- — *-
' j; ; ^ izj _g a 0 ; -i-($i <> ' < « *— '
I ff I
wea - ry post, From thoughts of dan - ger free ;
-iS^fc:
He marks some ves - sel's
Ti-fl— *d:
EO-«z?
fe_^^
f=±-t
n — u •"• _E —
z=Jz
r^* —
PI— |^t
dusk - y form, And hears, a - mid the howl - ing storm, The minute gun at
r-
sea. The min - ute gun at sea. And hears, a - mid the
£±~J
~S=i= — *-r~ -ihiZT L [I
howl - ing storm, The min - ute gun at sea.
:^~ C 0-" "DZZIuIZ f~~ ZZuHrj"~T ^ ll
I i ,1 ^ Jj
I y . -0
P C T i
I 1
?3EEE
-V
1 —
— — * —
2. Swift on the shore a har - dy few, The life - boat man with a
-0-1- 0 0— 0—,—0 - *• -'-
124
OUR FAMILIAR SOS as.
gallant, gallant crew, And dare the dang'rous wave;
f^^3^3E|£^^^^|^i
Thro' the wild surf they
n . *
=6
m
u s
r
i \,
cleave their way; Lost in the foam, nor know dis - may, Forfheygo the crew to
-1-
*:=* * —
I I
A
-*-T—
L
save ; For they go the crew to save ;
^^=^=^{= JEEEE ^{^=^{^E=£=g:
in the foam, nor
j L_t_ JL -j ^
EJE ElIE::*=f=jIy:=:===^==a~ j^:p^= === =gj
know dis - may, For they go
the crew to save.
H tj— T— nbZHT"
]]
Allegretto.
Solo.
^^^J{^^E zJ"
Chorus. ^
I
But Oh, what rap - ture fills each breast Of the hope - less crew of the ship distress'd; Then,
Tenor Solo.
*-—fe * -,-» « P — W-r-P P K r -i -,
E
land-ed safe, what joys to tell. Of all the dan-gers that be - fell ; Then is heard no more By the
- ^ ' -,_*_ *•••.•*,..*.. . /l-i ad lib.
gBfifcrHr--^
n — ^- jj ij j?
U— U
_*___---r
BLA CK-E YED a US AN.
125
BLACK-EYED SUSAN,
i
ALTHOUGH JOHN GAY was the intimate friend of Pope and Swift, and wrote the best
poetical fables in our language, he will be longest remembered by his few songs, the most
famous of which is " Black-eyed Susan." He was born in Devonshire, England, in 1688.
He was apprenticed to a silk-mercer, hated the business, escaped from it to follow his lit-
erary inclinations, and made friends who encouraged and assisted him. His " Beggar's
Opera," which had a first run of sixty-two nights, was immensely popular in city and
country, and is still a favorite for its sweet songs. It was brought out at Lincoln's Inn
Fields, under the management of Mr. Rich ; and the joke was bandied about, that " l The
Beggar's Opera' had made Gay rich, and Rich gay." Its success gave rise to the English
opera, which from that time disputed the stage with the Italian. Gay wrote a continua-
tion of the "Beggar's Opera," in which he transferred his characters to America-; but the
Lord Chamberlain refused to allow it to be played. He published it, and the notoriety
which its attempted suppression gave, caused him to realize more money than its success-
ful representation would have been likely to. The Duchess of Marlborough gave two hun-
dred and forty dollars for a single copy of it. Gay died suddenly, December 4, 1732.
Upon Pope's letter to Swift, announcing the event, Swift wrote : " Received December 15,
but not read until the 20th, by an impulse foreboding some misfortune." Pope wrote of
Gay:
" Of manners gentle, of affections mild ;
In wit a man, simplicity a child."
The ballad of " Black-eyed Susan" was magnificently set to a re-arranged old English
ballad air, by RICHARD LEVERIDGE.
flt^N J J
r ^ ^ zJ* ^
"f ^ ti^ Js
J f h
\ N
W1A_J
1. All in the
2. Wil - Ham was
Downs the fleet was
high up - on the
!S |N
moor'd, The stream - ers
yard, Rock'd by the
1 O1 J.' ^
wav - ing in
bil - lows to
— i J5 — '
the
and
/ Q X ^ — _ —
J „ J ^
1
^fflg J.
N*1 Ps 1 i
M x »
i
PP
3? -*
/^\* c
N m
i
]&J* 9 t w| N»
M ^ i ^
M IS 1 J
i-^ . 2^
-y — ^~
-J — ^— — ^~
_J X f
1
-ft r>
t-t -C_c irtffip
wind, When black-ey'd Su - san came on board, " O where shall I my true love
fro, Soon as her well - known voice he heard, He sigh'd and cast his eyes be -
*
V
^
126
OUli FAMILIAR SONGS.
'l£ * f ^^^=3=*--^-^—^
1 N C I ^"1
-^-P VI N W~i=1
S ^ --Eaf--/-&f~F — £>_^__.«L__ji_£__ji-^j--a, — g — ^— — i
find? Tell me, ye jo -vial sail - ore, tell me true, If mysweetWil-liam, If my sweet
- low; The cord slides swift-ly thro' his glow-ing hands, And, quick as lightning, And, quick as
52 — J — —A. — J — — 1— 0 — — 0 — — $v — 0 1 J - 0 — -
/ [^ W ^
«f= ^l^^-1
•"^
-Q * fe
^-T- : —
- J J ^ x =-
S X
7 — p- --£ — —
Wil - liam sails a - mong your
light - ning, on the deck he
_Q fe i^
^ » ' *
crew?"
stands.
< "*"
1 ^ t * LJ-1 ==5=3 — | — i^: — '
cres. dim.
^ •• ?~T N 1^1
P — MX x -f — =1 — F— 3 — sr^-
Is i
i »—
• I' y J1
00 '44-
>. * ~
«iJ T
Tjr I^S V ft
P N n.
1
(fL ¥ 1 IS m (• l* W J
| K J 2IZ^S
hi !». Ik.
(t) fl*
P N p pi
W* V
j j r
^ ^ • r. 7 *-. ? ^.9*
3. " Be-lievc not what the lands - men say, Who tempt with doubts thy con - stant
4. "Oh, Su-san, Su - san, love - ly dear, My vows for ev - er true re -
il Jiji x 1^ x
— N*1 K — =1 j
— F^T"5 J
^^ 'iD-ifl
/ 1 f^
\
(K?^ -t^i- p**i if 1^*1 r^ i •*
-S- -#• -*-• —
-fa* r- H
i|= M „ ^ ,"r > r f=
• — —
^y
— "
g> J T-^ di ^ C t
mind, They'll tell thee sail - ors, when a
- main; Let me kiss off that fall - ing
1 J? | |^^ [ J J -
:_[ — [ — U C J"
- way, In ev - 'ry
tear, We on - ly
I_O . J .1
port a mis - tress
part to meet a -
(£7; M ^ ^ — y 0* ^ ft—
nJr ' I
-[f~r , r ,|
— — ^_jz~^
X J
BLACK-EYED SUSAN.
127
find; Yet, yes, bc-lieve them when they tell thee so, For thou art pre-sent, For thou art
- gain; Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be The faith -ful corn-pass, The faith-ful
Z — p— f—
• — =-
-T — 'T-T-- r~
—
J .,
-^ —
.
frh r
'
r • r
- 4
g I
^
e \ L
tr
pre - sent
com - pass
where - so - e'er I
that still points to
i S E 1
t
go."
tiee."
1 K — 0
p
>K- aj — « — ^
— \s —
N "1 J 1 i ' "I
•
•^J p •
-t-j-
ff"r\ ^ *"
^ •%
H tM
4
* j
r
V \) jjj
_ J 2 «£
j i/
L
a
1 ' ^ —
3
- -*- ^>
2«j
^- -^"'
dim.
.
ft« 1
9.
j® • N ^ x.
V.
-f- =1 f— *- s-=?—
^=
„ j j M
9 —
-b ~b — — h —
— 9
— J— — -
s~~
J7—
»— t— - — = 1
x '
-J.
- — '
f
^
j r* Jj 'J J
-i — trf-—? — p-~
rK * ' p » »
* • c« *
* 00 J
N P P
v-U V
0 » — W*
J J UP »
J J P 1 I
1 ^ ^ t T ^. 0 0
5. The boatswain gave the dread - ful word. The sails their swell - ing bo - soms
A v f. ,N -> ^ ^
v ^ ^
/r j i j i ^
* *1 fj *1 "*•
N*1 N 1 i
IV »"1 N*
frn * * ^
• ] » ' *v
1 1
p ! «^ a
SS2 i
2 ^i
J ! ! .
" j
i) ^t •*• •»• •»• -^-^
k ».
V ft I
IN m \
[^« S3 ^M N*
p«1 p M V.
rSM [\ M !
"1s* r
^ J J — i^-
Jn J -^^
— J — J — — • — — •
M^ 1
-
3
spread; No long - er must she stay on board: They kiss — she sigh'd — he hangs his
_K l_^ i N
mm
^^t.
^
128
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
*•*
head: The less - 'niug boat un - will - ing rows to laud, "A - dk*u," she
i
*
m
ad lib.
-ifr
cries, "A - dieu," she cries,
aud waves her
li - ]y
hand.
2E
colla voce.
-*-
X-
All in the Downs the fleet was moored,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came on board:
"O, where shall I my true love find?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,
If my sweet William sails among the crew."
William, who high upon the yard
Rocked with the billow to and fro,
Soon as her well known voice he heard,
He sighed, and cast his eyes below :
The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,
And, quick as lightning, on the deck he stands.
So the sweet lark, high poised in air,
Shuts close his pinions to his breast
If chance his mate's shrill call he hear,
And drops at once into her nest : —
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet
" O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,
My vows shall ever true remain ;
Let me kiss off that falling tear;
We only part to meet again.
Change as ye list, ye winds ; my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.
" Believe not what the landsmen say,
Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind :
They'll tell thee sailors when away,
In every port a mistress find :
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
" If to fair India's coast we sail,
Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright,
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,
Thy skin is ivory so white.
Thus every beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.
" Though battle call me from thy arms,
Let not my pretty Susan mourn ;
Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms
William shall to his dear return.
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye."
The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
The sails their swelling bosom spread ;
No longer must she stay aboard ;
They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head.
Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land;
" Adieu ! " she cries, and waves her lily hand.
'TWAS WHEN THE SEAS WERE ROARING.
THE words of the following song were written by JOHN GAY. It was made for a
t. a-i - comic play, entitled « What-d'-ye-call-it f This was an entirely new style of piece,
m which the action was apparently tragic, but the language absurd. Part of the audi-
'TWAS WHEN THE SEAH WERE HOAR ING.
ence, catching the latter but faintly, were ready to dissolve in tears, while the rest were
so convulsed with laughter, that the drift of the piece was forgotten in the enjoyment.
Campbell says of the author : " The works of Gay are on our shelves, but not in our
pockets, — in our remembrance, but not in our memories.' His fables are as good as a
series of such pieces will, in all possibility, ever be. No one has envied him their produc-
tion ; but many would like to have the fame of having written ' The Shepherd's Week/
'Black-eyed Susan/ and the ballad that begins, "Twas when the Seas were Eoaring.'''
Cowper, in a letter dated August 4, 1783, says : " What can be prettier than Gay's ballad,
or rather Swift's, Arbuthnot's, Pope's, and Gay's, in the < What-d'-ye-call-it?' — "Twas when
the Seas were Roaring.' I have been well informed that they all contributed."
The music of the ballad is from HANDEL. Handel, among the other great composers,
is seldom associated with song music, but the time was, in England at least, when no con-
cert programme was complete without several of Handel's songs. Many of his most beau-
tiful melodies are never heard.
Andanttno.
Harmonized by EDWARD S. CUMMINGS.
look ;
Her head was crown'd with wil - lows, That trem - bled o'er the brook.
I
&:
130
<>n; FAMILIAL: .vo.v/,-.v
"Twelve months are gone and over.
And nine long tedious days :
Why didst thou, venturous lover,
Why didst thou trust the -seas?
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean.
And let my lover rest —
Ah! what's thy troubled motion
To that within my breast !
" The merchant, robbed of pleasure,
Views tempests in despair;
But what's the loss of treasure
To losing of my dear?
Should you some coast be laid on,
Where gold and diamonds grow,
You'll find a richer maiden,
But none that loves you so.
" How can they say that nature
Has nothing made in vain;
Why, then, beneath the water,
Should hideous rocks remain?
No eyes these rocks discover,
That lurk beneath the deep,
To wreck the wandering lover,
And leave the maid to weep."
All melancholy lying,
Thus wailed she for her dear ;
Repaid each blast with sighing,
Each billow with a tear :
When o'er the white wave stooping,
His floating corpse she spied,
Then like a lily drooping,
She bowed her head, and died.
A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE.
EPES SARGENT, author of " A Life on the Ocean Wave," was born in Gloucester, Mass.,
September 27, 1812. He is well known as the author of much graceful prose and verse,
and the editor of several fine collections. He was a journalist and long resided in Boston,
where he died in December, 1880. I am indebted to him for this history of the song:
" A Life on the Ocean Wave was written for HENRY RUSSELL. The subject of the
song was suggested to me as I was walking, one breezy, sun-bright morning in spring, on
the Battery, in New York, and looking out upon the ships and the small craft under full
sail. Having completed my song and my walk together, I went to the office of the Mirror,
wrote out the words, and showed them to my good friend, George P. Moms. After read-
ing the piece, he said, ' My dear boy, this is not a song; it will never do for music ; but it
is a very nice little lyric ; so let me take it and publish it in the Mirror.' I consented, and
concluded that Morris was right. Some days after the publication of the piece, I met
Russell. 'Where is that song?' asked he. 'I tried my hand at one and failed/ said I.
'How do you know thatf 'Morris tells me it won't answer.' 'And is Morris infallible?
Hand me the piece, young man, and let us go into Hewitt's back room here, at the corner
of Park Place and Broadway, and see what we can make out of your lines.'
" We passed through the music store. Russell seated himself at the piano ; read over
the lines attentively; hummed an air or two to himself; then ran his fingers over the
keys, then stopped as if nonplussed. Suddenly a bright idea seemed to dawn upon him ;
a melody hud all at once floated into his brain, and he began to hum it, and to sway him-
self to its movement. Then striking the keys tentatively a few times, he at last confidently
launched into the air since known as 'A Life on the Ocean Wave.' 'I've got it !' he ex-
claimed. It was all the work of a few minutes. I pronounced the melody a success, and
t proved so. The copyright of the song became very valuable, though I never got any-
thing from it myself. It at once became a favorite, and soon the bands were playing it in
the streets. A year or two after its publication, I received from England copies of five or
six different editions that had been issued there by competing publishers."
A LIFE OJV THE OCEAN WAVE.
131
// tempo vivace.
1 A life on the o - cean wave!.
2 The land is no Ion -ger in view, . .
A home on the roll - ing
The clouds have be - gun to
«— — |— j — g— : — I — * — : zz?~ zzfzz
•*"'••••• •"'- • •• •
=?=•==¥=-
S— N—
deep! Where the scat -ter'd wa - ters rave, And the winds their rev -els
frown But with a stout ves-sel and crew, We'll say, let the stormcome
H : ['-'-I- — i — j 1— i . i 3
EE gE3ES ESE:
:-:t
35:E-EE2E«E ESE3EEBE3E
=±
keep!
down !
11
Si/a.
Spiritoso.
A home on the roll - ing
The clouds have be - gun to
-^ ^ ^0* -^ * *
-^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^^ \ i * \ 0 0
— ^ i — ^^^—f — -f • — -^^^—\ .^^*H» IT ^ -—-,g ,, i.
gH=^B= ^^=3^^E^=
-HS — -^.I'ly.'T *^'P~~ f f r~*~ — f X^ —
£T 1^
deep! Where the scat -ter'd wa - ters rave, And the winds their re - vels
frown, But with a stout ves-sel and crew, We'll say, let the stormcome
_ -_ __-_ _
1 J 1 ^ 1 J J U _J 0 0 *-_.) j 1 ~
-*• f •*• f^ -*• f •* f -*• ;V •*•*-»
=!=
r * ?
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
«^»>
— I A — -s —
— . — -
k,.,.,,! Like an ea - gle cag'd I pine On this dull, un - ehang - ing
down! And the song of our hearts shall be, While the winds and the waters
\^ i- r. -
shore, Oh give me the flash - ing brine! The spray and the tern - pest
rave, A life on the heav - ing sea! A home on theoouad-fog
•' * ~*: :~~* — « — • — •—•—'•—
~
" ~~ """"
-— — A
roar! A life on the o - cean wave! A home on the roll - ing
wave
Cadz. ad lib, 8va.
„ pc==Jt3Szq!r ^rnniizrr —1=0^ "^ss
E^E -lfe=4^=44«=5=SPt*= =S=T^^=?=^
-tr* — * *— L* »— *i— — r-1-* » — * *—
deep ! " • " Where the scatt - er'd wa - ters rave, And the winds their re - vels
8va...
A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE.
133
l±jEiz~; 0 — ~1*~\ -| . j ~^-~f — ^1 — ^=3= z^rrniizi: :z:£zin!zr ~i^~^(
keep! The winds,.
8va. . .
the winds,.
the winds their rev - els
~^i '* — 1^1 i^- — -^^— »-
1
Srt=*:
keep ! .
The winds, .
the winds, the winds their re - vels
8va.
=r~ ~i 1~ Ir0^^— =-r
^=?=»=;=f=»=t=t^=f=t=
Sfe
fr
' ' ' ' ' 5 ' ' ' * -"^" *~
I
-a*-:*
keep ! .
-T—(2.^
— ? — I __l i .1
cres.
f
— *— | — ^=^— ~^-»— :=3^»~ ~^~*-^ —+ * .j. * *
- f- f' f- 7- r- f-
8va
tr
\r^~
d:
1
a
* f
decres.
— f-1 ~ ^J" ^
I -}- -J-
_ __ __ _ .
'
i i i r r
134
OUR FAMILIAR SO NO A
lib
-i » — —
=?-• • J
Once more on the deck I stand Of my own swift -glid - ing
^ ^
I •*
-*-,-»—»—
I2=f =?i^=:
craft; Set sail! fare-well to the land. The gale follows- fair a -
...q^
-•— f— •-
5=^
-y—
Of my own swift glid - ing
craft'
sail ' fare - well to the land, ...... The gale fol -lows fair a -
3E^ E^ 3=F*^ F^| p^ 3^^E^SE S^
T ^T • T — ^^* — ;-L-J-J— *-j_ _,_t_j__^ =ij jr-=»-
A LIFE OX THE OCEAN WAVE.
135
- baft.
We shoot thro' the spark- ling foam,.... Like an o - cean bird set
pe$
_•» ~* «f _* j
' 7 __ g »
•3?
I ~-
:j j — ]s==*r:£=ii±-=— :£==3 ^1=3=
c — orv— — -•— 0— 0 — f:"^: — • ••- - J— -*^v
-N-T S K K-
__L? _L ij? i^ i~
-*—\ • • *-
^
free, Like the o - cean bird our home We'll find far out on the
.
-f ? • -
sea ! A life on the o - ceau wave ! A home on. the roll - ing
Cads, ad lib. 8va.
deep! Where the scat - ter'd wa -tors rave, And the winds their re - vels
Sva.. .
*
^i m
~^
5 — *»— — *^~* * — 9 « — ^ — tri — » — — * — C4 —
OUll FAMILIAR SONGS.
keep ! The winds
the winds their rev - els
8va
==pf E
the winds their re - vels
keep! The winds,
I I
=t
keep!
f- f
. loco.
:- S
m
decres.
V •&• •&
44-J— ,, ^ P PP
i i
A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING- SEA. 137
A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA.
THE name of ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, author of the song which follows, suggests one of
the pleasantest characters among the producers of lyric poetry. He was born at Black-
wood, in Nithside, Dumfriesshire, Scotland, December 7, 1784. At the time of his birth, his
father was a land-steward. His mother was a lady of fine accomplishments. Allan was
the fourth of eleven children, and, after an elementary education, was apprenticed to an
older brother, who was a stone-mason. Every spare moment was spent in poring over
books, or listening to the legends that his mother knew how to set forth picturesquely.
A little river divided the lands which his father superintended, from the farm of
Burns ; and the young Allan received indelible impressions from the poet who patted his
childish head. The Ettrick Shepherd, too, was feeding his master's flock on the hills near
by. Allan had long admired him in secret, and one day, with his brother James, he started
to pay his hero a visit. It was on an autumn afternoon, and the shepherd was watching his
sheep on the great hill of Queensbury, when he saw the brothers approaching. James
stepped forward and asked if his name was Hogg, saying that his own was Cunningham.
He turned toward Allan, who was lingering bashfully behind, and told the shepherd that
he had brought to see him " The greatest admirer he had on earth, himself, a young,
aspiring poet of some promise." Hogg received them warmly, and they passed a lively
afternoon. From that time, Hogg was a frequent visitor at the Cunningham's. Before this
time, Mr. Cunningham had died, and the young Allan was giving his whole strength to
assist in the support of the family. Busy as he was, he could write little, but he read at
every opportunity. " The Lay of the Last Minstrel " appeared, and Allan saved his pennies
until he had the vast sum of twenty-four shillings to invest in the poem, which he com-
mitted to memory. When "Marmion" was published, he was wild with delight, and
could not restrain himself until he had travelled all the way to Edinburgh to look upon
the marvelous poet. Arrived there, he was patiently walking back and forth before Scott's
house, when he was called from the window of the one adjoining. A lady of some distinc-
tion, from his native town, had recognized his face. He had but just told her his desires,
when the bard came pacing down the street, absently passed his own door, and ascended
the steps of the house whence his enthusiastic admirer was watching him. Scott rang,
was admitted, — or rather stepped directly in as the door was opened, but started back at
the unfamiliar sight of a row of little bonnets, and beat a hasty retreat. He afterward
spoke with the greatest warmth of Cunningham's poetry, and always called him " honest
Allan."
When Cunningham was twenty-five years old, and had published a few beautiful
poems, Mr. Cromek, the London engraver and antiquarian, visited Scotland, and was sent
to Allan Cunningham, as just the one to assist him in his search for " Reliques of Burns."
He asked to see some of Allan's writings. The pedantic antiquary gave a little grudging
praise, but advised him to collect the old songs of his district, instead of writing new stuff.
An idea shot into the poet's brain, and in due time a package labelled "old songs,"
reached Cromek. The antiquary was charmed, and urged Allan to come to London to
superintend the forthcoming volume, which he did. The collection of quaint and beautiful
verse made a decided impression. Hogg, John Wilson, and other discerning critics saw
the clever deception, but Cromek did not live to have his confidence in himself and human
nature shaken by " honest Allan."
After Cromek's death, Cunningham was obliged to return to his stone-mason's craft,
and he is said to have laid pavement in Newgate street, Edinburgh. He made an unsuc-
cessful attempt at newspaper reporting, and then obtained a situation in the studio of the
eminent English sculptor, Francis Chantry, then just beginning his career in London. He
138
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
spent the remaining thirty-two years of his life in a position of trust with this .sculptor;
writing industriously in all his leisure hours. By English critics, he is said to have the best
prose style ever attained north of the Tweed, and the Scotch rank him next to Hogg as a
song-writer. He died in London, October 29, 1842.
Scott said that " A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea," was " the best song going." The
music is the famous French military air, Le petit tambour.
A wet sheet and a flow-ing sea, A wind that fol - lows fast. And
2 O for a soft and gen -tie wind, I heard a fair one cry, But
3. There's tern - pest in yon horn - ed moon, And light-ning in yon cloud, And
-j — H ; ~T~ — -j— -^^-rip
4. £ £— — .• i*. £- —£r£r£:
fills the white and rust - ling sail, And bends the gal - lant mast,
five to me the snor - ing breeze, And white waves heav - ing high ;
ark! the mu - sic, mar - i - ners,
The wind is pip - ing loud;
And bends the gal -lant mast, my boys! While like the ea-gle free, A-
And white waves neaving high my boys! The good ship tight and free; Tin1
The wind is pip - ing loud, my boys ! The lightning flashing free, While
-«*—
—0
-I
war the good ship flies,
world of wa - ters is
the hoi - low oak our
and leaves
our home,
palace is,
Old Eng - land on
And mer - ry men
Our her - i - tage
the lea.
are we.
the sea.
"^ r*
' i
** •»
B
-*-
7
1 "
— m
:r=
Z?.C.
THE STORMY PETREL. 139
THE STORMY PETREL.
THE words of "The Stormy Petrel" were written by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER (Barry
Cornwall). The air was composed by the Chevalier NEUKOMM. "The Chevalier," says
Chorley, " was as cunning in his generation as his poet was the reverse. On the strength
of this success and his partner's simplicity, the musician beguiled the poet to write some
half hundred lyrics for music, the larger number of which are already among the classics
of English song, in grace and melody, recalling the best of our old dramatists, and surpris-
ingly little touched by conceit. Will it be believed that for such admirable service the
noble-hearted poet was never even offered the slightest share in gains which would have
had no existence, save for his suggesting genius, by the miserable Chevalier ? It only
dawned on him that his share of the songs must have some value, when the publishers,
•without hint or solicitation, in ' acknowledgment of the success,' sent a slight present of
jewelry to a member of his family."
The Stormy Petrel is the bird known to sea superstition as " Mother Carey's Chicken."
The name was first applied by Captain Carteret's sailors, and is supposed to refer to a
mischievous old woman of that name ; for the petrel is a bird of ill-omen.
The song was written for Henry Phillips, who in his pleasant " Kecollections," gives
this incident of his voyage to America : " It was a glorious, bright day, and we were skim-
ming before a lovely breeze, watching the flocks of little petrels at the stern of the vessel,
when the captain, having taken his observation at the meridian, announced in a loud voice
that we were just a thousand miles from land. On the instant, Barry Cornwall's beautiful
words occurred to me, and Neukomm's admirable music to the song he wrote for me, ' The
Stormy Petrel.' l Come,' said I, to my fellow passengers, ' come down into the saloon, and
I'll tell you all about it, in music.' Away we went. I sat down to the pianoforte, and
sang —
' A thousand miles from land are we,
Tossing about on the roaring sea.' "
> >
1. A thou - sand miles from land are we, Toss - ing a - bout on the
2. A home, if such a place can be, For her who lives on the
it
r-d^-
— y
-Or
-* =^rd
1
s—
i4j-w —
~ * N
-f-4— 2"
— ' -^
"T5 a —
— *— — *-i:r-* —
1
— — 1
•
f^T) i
/ 1
1 ' -
* r~*'
« ^
-
*-J-^
1
11 4..-.
."., ..^
roar
wild,
C~Vt<+ »
4 0 •-
£ *
- ing sea,
wild sea, For
_ 1 f.
Toss -
her
— T-»
— *~T
ing
who
— »
«— 5 —
a - bout
lives
0 —
— • *-0
on the roar -
on the wild,
— 0-* 0-T-0
ing
wild
-0-
sea;
sea;
— 0 —
From
On
0 —
nn
_$_ _*_ .1. ._
3E
— 0—
•—
H-r—
_9«_
— 1
-? 1
1 U
~T
-1 " D g—
— F —
1
«
c
140
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
bil - low to bound -ing bil - low cast,
waves her rest, on waves her food,
2 fe^Mrjr H~ '*
Like flee - cy snow in the
S S I 1^*** -^ _j**~"
g=grdz=iJ_Za i^zrj^iz^rzzzibnzip: zi^z^za
rr— F -*» ^%«^*7ijdzi*:±^:p!q ; r — <<~ — <r-f
stor - my blast, While the whale and shark and
rock her brood, And the sai - lor hates her
sword - fish sleep For - ty
well - known form, For it
— Z5l ZSl—
fa - thorns beneath, far down the deep, fa - thorns be - neath, far down the
brings him news of a com - ing storm, It brings him news of com - ing
•/ >
f J ^
-^T^j f-r Ji-TH^— — - j-
L_5_L
^ ^ 1— -.
storm
Yet here, a - mid the rest - less foam, The storm - y pet - rel finds a home.
-£_» — rj__^
4
A thousand miles from land are we,
Tossing about on the stormy sea, —
From billow to bounding billow cast,
Like fleecy snow on the stormy blast.
The sails are scattered abroad like weeds :
The strong masts shake like quivering reeds ;
The mighty cables and iron chains,
The hull, which all earthly strength disdains —
They strain and they crack; and hearts like stone
Their natural, hard, proud strength disown.
Up and down ! — up and down !
From the base of the wave to the billow's
crown,
And amidst the flashing and feathery foam
The stormy petrel finds a home, —
A home, if such a place may be
For her who lives on the wide, wide sea,
On the craggy ice, in the frozen air,
And only seeketh her rocky lair
To warm her young, and to teach them to spring
At once o'er the waves on their stormy wing!
O'er the deep ! — o'er the deep !
Where the whale, and the shark, and the sword-
fish sleep, —
Outflying the blast and the driving rain,
The petrel telleth her tale — in vain;
For the mariner curseth the warning bird
Which bringeth him news of the storm unheardt
Ah ! thus does the prophet of good or ill
Meet hate from the creatures he serveth still ;
Yet, he ne'er falters, — so, petrel, spring
Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy wing I
ROCK A WAY.
141
ROCKAWAY.
THE song which recalls the days when Eockaway was a far-famed and fashion-
able watering place, was the joint production of HENRY JOHN SHARPE and HENRY
KUSSELL. Mr. Sharpe, writer of the words, was a Philadelphia druggist, and also an ama-
teur litterateur of forty years ago. These two men were associated in a piece of rhyme
which appeared in Morris and Willis's New Mirror. The rhyme written by Sharpe recounts
the incident that first induced Russell to visit the United States. It is called, " The Old
Dutch Clock," and reads as follows :
At a lone inn, one dreary, dismal night,
It was my hapless fortune to alight.
The piercing wind howled round the chimney-tops;
Hark ! how the hail against the lattice drops I
What sound is that— methinks I hear a knock —
'Twas but the ticking of an " Old Dutch Clock : "
I hate Dutch clocks — I know not why — it seems
As if they were the harbinger of dreams.
Above the dial-plate a spectre stood,
True to the very life — though carved in wood,
A Saracen — whose huge, sepulchral eyes
Rolled to and fro — ah me ! how slow time flies !
I sipped my punch — stirred up the smouldering fire,
And wrapped my cloak around me to retire,
Snugly ensconced upon an old arm-chair :
Tick, tick ! how terribly those eye-balls glare !
Methinks they gazed at me, then at the bowl, —
" Meinheer, if thou art thirsty, by my soul,
I'll pledge thce true, if thou'lt but let me sleep,
By all the ' spirits of the vasty deep.' n
A sudden gust now shook the house around,
The old Dutch clock came tumbling to the ground,
The death-like ticking ceased — the eyes were still —
The fire was nearly spent — the air was chill.
Sempre moderato.
Amidst the shower of flying atoms rose
Three phantom-spirits—hush! how hard it blows!
The first, the eagle, joined to human form,
Flapped his spread wings terrific with the storm.
He fixed his talons on my bosom fast,
And thus addressed me— " Slave ! / am the Past I
What hast thou done that's worthy of a name,
On the high record of immortal fame?"
A statue next, of a gigantic height,
With lofty brow and eyes intensely bright,
In a sonorous voice distinctly said,
" Heed not the Past, he hath forever fled.
" I am the Present, list to what I say —
All doubts and dangers then will flee away;
The earth is stern and sterile — take this spade,
Compel her bounty if you seek her aid."
Soft music broke upon my slumbering ear,
Methought I heard a seraph's whisper near —
It was the Future, robed in virgin white ;
In gentle woman's form it caught my sight.
"Awake! awake! from thy inglorious rest!
And seek thy fortune in the boundless West! "
Just then I woke— the pitiless storm was o'er,
The old Dutch clock still ticking as before.
colla voce.
— 0- — 0 * 0 0 ~^0 0 — 0 — I -3
list - 'uiug to the break -ers roar, That wash the beach at Rock - a - way.
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
— - 2~ j— -rri
^=
'X ->
Long Island's sea-girt shore, Many an hour I've wbil'd away, In list'ning to the breakers rD:ir, That
-jj — — — — — K ft N ^S~~~S — — H*-£
E =+r* •— j=^*=;== f^i£f
wash the beach at Rock - a - way. Trans - fix'd I've stood while nature's lyre. In
l=£=2~
9— —d •— IT- m~ "TT<>"T"Jl"*"1~j T*~i~<" *
- ,|--l- :— J=J p^±gA
"*" "^ "*'"''' ^? ^? -*• ^n"*-*- -*•"*-»• ^
i^^T
-*< N
Quasi andante.
—•-. _.
d=i:fcij=a~ *" =f==f=if=:
__^?_^_! — — ^Z=Z^_=tl kx_
one bar - mo - nious con - cert broke, And catching its pro - me -thcan fire, My
voce.
I I
in - most sou! to rap -ture woke. Oh !
On old Long Is - land's sea - girt shore,
m =1= ^P =£5
3*
•—* l-s—
Ma-ny an hour I've whil'd a -way, In list-'ning to the break -cr's roar, That
8va
E-f2?iE3E3
-^^ — r^
•
ji__
^^^j
BOCKAWAY.
143
f<=:p=rq^::r=
=3=g=gg=
wash the beach at Kock - a - way.
£ * *• *• -^ji ^ •*• A -^-l-*- *•
-* (a 1 1 ~ . m — - r— 1 1 1- ff'l 1—
ls?=«= =t
how de -light - fill 'tis to stroll,Where murm'ring winds and waters meet, Marking the bil-lowsas they roll, And
-M.-M '
\=f,
I I
^=jM
V
^ P
-K -N — T -h K-
:^=5=^t:=^z=itiTz=
^= -^ *-*=*— =^=p=
break re - sist - less at your feet; To watch young I - ris, as she dips Her
?=?=*
^J^^T— =3
-* 0 3
--*, h-
man - tie in the spark- ling dew, And chas'd by Sol, . a - way she trips, O'er
*=
-+-*— ^ \ 0 I I
-*-,-< :— M
1=
144
OUR FAMILIAR SONUS.
/Ts /*?N
<— * f g— f 1*:
the ho - ri - son's quiv'ring blue, Oh !
On old Long Is - land's sea - girt shore,
JL 8va." ' v
S
-r-r*-* 1 «J * -!-*-:}-«-
^P=S=SS==^^
3£^
3?i
')* .
*
n^i -• -f^ — x^l — "j^— X» F
i^* — j& — "^* — *^" — ^^-
5§ ^^) ^f^i
-.
Ma - ny an hour I've whil'd a - way, In list - 'ning to the break -ers' roar, That
8va 4 loco.
i
J -S-
wash the beach at Rock - a - way.
«4:
^ 4L
— • — ~ ^- —
^=^r*-^-?i
^Srf-
rt /<?f^.
hear the startling night-winds sigh, As dreamy twilight lulls to sleep, While the pale moon reflects from high Her
aSe in the migh- ty deep. Ma - jes - tic scene, where na - ture dwells, Pro -
• 9 * — •
HE
ROCK A WAY.
H5
r±c=l:
~K—
-*- ~
- found in ev - er - last - ing love, While her un - raeas - ur'd mu - sic swells, The
:±^r-
' •
5*3 3 3 3 3 3 *
vault-ed firm - a-ment a - bove. Oh !
v >-
-V iX-
On old Long Is - land's sea - girt shore,
8va."
^
t
T
f — f*
—
Ma - ny an hour I've whil'd a - way, In list - 'ning to the break -ers' roar, That
8va .. loco.
wash the beach at Rock - a - way.
ill
I
y^
53^
i
L±=JJ &±f~* •
=?=.! *_i=iizr
*- A
-££-
izi i _!*-•.. i p '-B-11
g=K — "^g=Eg^a
(10)
146
OUK FAMILIAR XONGX.
WHAT ARE THE WILD WAVES SAYING?
THE words of this beautiful duet, suggested by the well-known scene in " Dombey and
Son," were written by DR. JOSEPH EDWARDS CARPENTER ; the music by STEPHEN GLOVER.
Carpenter was born in London, November 2, 1813. He began his career as a song-writer,
in 1828, and before he was seventeen years of age, London was ringing with his comic
ballads. These included "That's the way the Money goes," "I'm quite a Ladies' man,"
« Going out a Shooting." In 1837 he went to reside in Leamington, where he was con-
nected with the newspaper press. In 1851 he returned .to London, and a year later
appeared as a public singer and lecturer. He is now ( 1880) on the editorial staff of Funny
Folks.
Dr. Carpenter has published two novels, half a dozen volumes of poems, about twenty
dramas, operettas, and farces, and more than three thousand songs. He has also compiled
several volumes of popular songs, and a series of " penny readings." His words have been
set to music by nearly every prominent English composer of the last half century.
STEPHEN GLOVER was born in London, in 1813. He composed music correctly at the
age of nine, and his life was devoted to the art. His instrumental music has had an im-
mense circulation, and some of his songs have been widely popular. His own favorites
were his adaptations of Scripture words, which breathe a simple trust in the Christian
faith — the ruling principle of his life. His themes were characterized by a melodious
sweetness, and were pathetic, lively, or tender, in accordance with the words of the song,
to which they were always carefully suited. Mr. Glover was passionately fond of country
life, and most of his compositions were written in rural retirement. During a visit to the
seaside in 1867, he met with a severe accident, from the effects of which he never recov-
ered, and which virtually closed his musical career. He travelled from place to place, in
search of health, and died on the 7th of December, 1870. A memoir of him, published in
^in English journal, closes with this paragraph : " The editor can not allow this brief notice
to go forth without bearing his testimony to the gentleness, the courtesy, the manifold
Christian virtues of his departed friend. To the great ability which has secured for his
compositions a world- wide fame, Mr. Glover added that self-negation which is even more
rare than the exquisite skill of the sweet singer."
PAUL.
are the wild waves
but the waves seem
i^_ Si
•
long.
tiling;
That
a-mid our
play - ing,
And vain is my weak en - aea - vor,
I
To
WHAT ARE THE WILD WAVES SAYING f
Agitato, cres.
147
•0 -- fr — fr-j J'***'- 1 —
hear but their low, lone song?
guess what the sur - ges sing !
Not by the sea - side
What is that voice re
^E
dolce.
on - ly,
peat - ing,
There it sounds wild and free ;
Ev - er by night and day ?
But at
dim.
Efc
E^j^^bzf-*— 3=5=^E}=^ =*=E =£= E|
*
night, when 'tis dark and lone - ly, In dreams it is still with
Is it a friend - ly greet - ing, Or a warn - ing that calls a -
m
_T_ _i^ — „__,__-
-*— — IrX-
&=?=*= El?!=
me...
way?.
But at night, when 'tis dark and lone- ly,
Is it a friend - ly greet - ing,
y
In '
Or a
^
*— J= g-«
0. J _9_ _ _ ' =
OUR FAMILIAR KONG IS.
FLORENCE. /*'» anitnuto.
w>
•ft— t-
I
dreams it is still with me...
warn - iug that calls a - way?.
Brother! I hear no
Brother! the in - land
zzz^ i — i — i — r—
—a _ — 1 — « — I—* — tn
-S--r -5- — to-* -+•»•—
dim.
fl£E^3E^ i?^i
sing - ing!
moun - tain,
'Tis but the roll - ing wave,..
Hath it not voice and sound?.
— -- — » — -• — — • — . •• -^ — ^ — * -^ — -^ ^^ — —
-9- •+ -0- *+ -0- A -0- -0- -*--*-
Ev-cr its lone course winging
Speaks not the drip - ping fountain,
O - ver some o - cean cave!...
As it be-dews the ground?.
:^=S£ ani=3=
3==±i=33-« ?
'
Agitato.
ffiT~rg*~g— »-^ — 1-= £^=g
-h- » 1 U
••^^•t— — t^ ^ h. y L ^ | | -— " ^\_> m ' w
Tis but the noise of wa - ter Dashing a -gainst the shore, And the
E'en by the household in - gle, Curtained and closed and warm.
^^^^fffT^f^^-^^^^^^^^
'r"~~ -N cen do.
• i i f i i
2 •2-r*-*-*-*— *-*-*-•— ,-J J J_ -^d— — J—
^ r ... * "
WHAT All E THE WILD WAVES SAYING?
149
wind from some bleak - er quar - ter
Do not our voi - ces min - gle,
V •
Ming - ling with its
With those of the dis - tant
_ ? _ z« _ :zi«zi zzi _ _zi_~iz:i _ _ z^nziszzr _ z -- — 3 _ z?_
jz:i _ g _ z^n^zisiz^zr _ zj -- g — 3
f *?&**** f B*
r-*-
=F:
roar, And the wind from some bleak - er quar - ter Ming - ling,
storm? Do not our voi - ces min - gle With those
_A i A,
^
~k *. — — ft-
^ ^ • • ji — ^-— ^ ~S S T" ~M ^ — ^
_^ ^^
, ^
FLORENCE. Lento.
ra//.
ming -ling with its roar
of the dis - tant storm?....
— A~ J i — "j ~CTT — ' — n gl
1. No! no. no. no! NoTho,
1. No!
2. Yes!
PAUL.
no, no, no!
yes, yes !
NoTno,
Yes!
Ml^t- =Zp=^lI^Z
l^lilr^5^zzziE=^z= !^i==
Tremolo.
Lento.
rail.
LJk • '
sttvS: :r-?— r1?1
— gg : I
« tempo.
13= =5zi====
no ! it is some - thing great - er,
yes, but there's something great - er,
That speaks to the heart a -
H : 1
a tempo.
150
OUK FAMILIAR SONUS.
^f- i — I s K— 2 — r — 1~* — '^"v^0 m
=E= ^ E^
lone,
The voice of the great Cre - a
- tor.
lone;
The voice of the great Cre - a
- tor.
The voice of the great Cre -
^E i=E E^zg__5ZZg
- tor.
Dwells in that might - y tone !
rail.
Dwells in that might - y
- tor
tone!
WHAT ARE THE WILD WAVEK SAYING f
151
" What are the wild waves saying,
Sister, the whole day long,
That ever amid our playing,
I hear but their low, lone song?
Not by the seaside only,
There it sounds wild and free ;
But at night, when 'tis dark and lonely,
In dreams it is still with me."
" Brother ! I hear no singing !
'Tis but the rolling wave,
Ever its lone course winging
Over some lonesome cave !
'Tis but the noise of water
Dashing against the shore,
And the wind from some bleaker quarter
Mingling, mingling with its roar."
" No ! 1 1 is something greater,
That speaks to the heart alone ;
The voice of'the great Creator,
Dwells in that mighty tone.
" Yes ! But the waves seem ever
Singing the same sad thing,
And vain is my weak endeavor
To guess what the surges sing !
What is that voice repeating.
Ever by night and day?
Is it a friendly greeting,
Or a warning that calls away?"
" Brother ! the inland mountain,
Hath it not voice and sound?
Speaks not the dripping fountain,
As it bedews the ground?
E'en by the household ingle,
Curtained and closed and warm,
Do not our voices mingle
With those of the distant storm?"
" Yes! But there 's something greater,
That speaks to the heart alone;
The voice of the great Creator
Dwells in that mighty tone ! "
TRANCADILLO.
THE words of this song were written by CAROLINE GILMAN, nee Howard, who was bom
In Boston, Mass., October 8, 1794. When sixteen years old, she wrote a poem on " Jairus'
Daughter," which was published in the North American Review. In 1819, she married
Rev. Samuel Gilman, and removed to Charleston, South Carolina. She published a series
of volumes of prose and poetry, most of which are embodied in her last book, " Stories
and Poems by a Mother and Daughter" (1872). Since the war, Mrs. Gilman has resided in
Cambridge, Mass. Of her little song, " Trancadillo," she writes : " The following graceful
harmony, long consecrated to Bacchanalian revelry, has been rescued for more genial and
lovely associations. The words were composed for a private boat-party at Sullivan's Island,
South Carolina, but the author will be glad to know that the distant echoes of other waters
awake to the spirited melody. A portion of the original chorus has been retained, which,
though like some of the Shakesperian refrains, seemingly without meaning, lends anima-
tion to the whole."
The air of " Trancadillo" was composed by FRANCIS H. BROWN, a New York composer
and music-teacher, who now resides in Stamford, Connecticut.
^^mm
=gl
o'er the blue, roll - ing wave,
-f* fc
The
1
o'er the blue, roll - ing wave, The
J J — g j I
™
^
1.552
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
be the care of the brave.
love - ly should still
be the care of the brave. Tran-ca -
I'll 7-* p J *—
W7ti — d —
5 ~'\
Ki_^__
-r.
U" '
^s
I. 1
r- H / J__J:
- dil - lo, Tran - ca - dil - lo, Tran - ca - dil - lo, dil - lo, dil - lo, dil - lo, With
J J
=*
- dil - lo, Tran - ca - dil - lo, Tran - ca- dil - lo, dil - lo, dil - lo, <lil - lo, With
=r=p — ps^— —
^P
frfrfr J =J==:=J
r r
,
XJ.
Legato.
rW — F~
f ' f
—m 9 -P-
—? — f~~
EJEEJEEgSi
W-* — I 1 v-
moon- light and
si&r - 1
K
ight we'll
bound
4 — \—
o'er the
bil - low, Bright
mvH? —
K-
d -±—
=1=
-J—i f5-
— 1
— a*
i J.
^ j
B— * * »-* •
moon - light an
a
star - ]
3
ight we'll bound
j i j i ===!
o'er the
-
bil - low, Bright
H* f *
f
11 11
V -*• -»
,
L^dtzJ
r==-
-
'F f * -<
i : : _q
-A
-£-.
IT '
4 — : — 8 —
^
bil - low, gay bil - low, the bil -low, bil- low, bil- low, bil -low, With
bil - low, gay bil - low, the bil - low, bil - low, bil - low, bil - low, With
J. -1
TRANCADILLO.
153
f) u
J
y \y i* |* • 9
1
" '' f
frKP b H
-f ^ ^— (•-
f.
— - ||
gp_u 1 1 v— _
tr-l"T~
— i 1 H
moon - light and
ytji 1 1 N i-
star - light we'll boun
| 1 M— t
d o'er the bil - low.
1 1 UK-I 1 II
RF — ^ ^ • r
-J— — J-! J—
— ^
9 0
&J it^H
moon - light and
star - light we'll
-= —
bound o'er the
M ^ ^ '
bil - low.
— f f — H
^\5 S-'-~
^r^trp
-i •
dim
a
P ^^3
|» • H
« •
/^^\« l^.
i
! > II
£% i '
» 1* ||
^^17 — 17 j
^J-^
—& — :
-r F— H
Oh, come, maidens come, o'er the blue rolling
wave,
The lovely should still be the care of the
brave.
Trancadillo, Trancadillo, &c.
With moonlight and starlight we'll bound o'er the
billow,
Bright billow, gay billow, &c.
With moonlight and starlight we'll bound o'er the
billow.
The moon 'neath yon cloud hid her silvery
light —
Ye are come — like our fond hopes she glows in
your sight.
Trancadillo, Trancadillo, &c.
With moonlight and lovelight we'll bound o'er the
billow,
Bright billow, gay billow, &c.
With moonlight and lovelight we'll bound o'er the
billow.
Wake the chorus of song, and our oars shall keep
time,
While our hearts gently beat to the musical
chime.
Trancadillo, Trancadillo, &c.
With oar-beat and heart-beat we'll bound o'er the
billow,
Bright billow, gay billow, &c.
With oar-beat and heart-beat, we'll bound o'er the
billow.
As the waves gently heave under zephyr's soft
sighs,
So the waves of our hearts 'neath the glance of
your eyes.
Trancadillo, Trancadillo, &c.
With eye-beam and heart-beam, we'll bound o'er
the billow,
Bright billow, gay billow, &c.
With eye-beam and heart-beam we'll bound o'er
the billow.
See, the helmsman looks forth to yon beacon-lit
isle ;
So we shape our hearts' course by the light of
your smile.
Trancadillo, Trancadillo, &c.
With love-light and smile-light we'll bound o'er
the billow,
Bright billow, gay billow, &c.
With love-light and smile-light we'll bound o'er
the billow.
And when on life's ocean we turn our slight
prow,
May the light-house of Hope beam like this on
us now.
Life's billow, frail billow, &c.
With hope-light, the true-light, we'll bound o'er
life's billow,
Life's billow, frail billow, &c.
With hope-light, the true light, we'll bound o'er
life's billow.
WAPPING OLD STAIRS.
" WAPPING OLD STAIRS," on the Thames, has witnessed innumerable partings between
Billy Bowlegs and his sweetheart, with her face hidden under his broad brim. The term
old stairs is used simply to distinguish the place from the new stairs at Wapping, which
also descend to the water, where, no doubt, the same scenes are enacted ; for the water-
354
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
worn, rat-gnawed steps are not older than love, while the new plank, thrown out to-day for
parting friends to cross, is not more fresh and bright. The song was written by JOHN
PERCY, an eminent English ballad-composer of the latter half of the last century. The
song ended with a cloud resting upon the fair fame of sailor Tom ; but JAMES POWELL.
added the stanza beginning :
" « Dear Molly,' cried Tom, as he heaved a deep sigh."
Mark Lemon's wife, who was a fine vocalist, used to sing this old favorite of her husband's,
while the fire burned bright, and he beat on his chair with his pipe for her sole accom-
paniment.
Andante con espress. ^
$=£*
m
Your Mol-ly has nev-er been false, she de-clares, Since
-K-
^ last time we parted at Wapping old stairs, When I swore that I still would contin - ue the same, And
IT-!
Tl »-
1 M iX
gave you the 'bac-co - box raark'd with my name, And gave you the 'bac -co - box
-=!—*-
£
!£
JL&£_ __», K_ [S {i
i — ^ c~a S r^-i
—*-. — *<-* M 13 — J— r-
** \ }
—i Ym —
(m — J J__ajj — *! 4 *_ • - j^ • y^
mark'd with my name. When I pass'd a whole fortnight be -
#%~7 i f~ IT~ ~ 1
-^.3 J *> J i •—
tween decks with you, Did I
E ^J —
tj *^ ^p-
pp
^)3?u. M — « — M ^ ^~H~=i — f —
-F [> *
— a» f „ „
• 1 J
if r ^
j "^i _j=
— pi —
w $ r ^ .p.. . J ^ r
1 V 1 « 1 J
— ±_f
\VAPPING OLD STAIRS,
ad lib.
155
e'er give a kiss, Tom, to
-N
one of your crew? To be use-ful and kind, with my
colla voce.
*^~^£ =3= — f—
f -T1—*- * -<J-*-
"r^1 "
* r » j i s "ft — — f*> \— i •=*
a±a ' / r* J ^ / / J
Thorn -as I stay'd; For his trow-sers I wash'd, and his grog, too, I made.
i
tempo.
^ ^ ,m
*=t
?==
3-=
Tho' you promis'd last Sunday to walk in the Mall, With
^^
=f
sosten.
1 • i
r*1 r ^ x.
v ^ 1^
-N \
3=t
Su-san f rom Deptf ord, and likewise with Sal, In si - lence I stood, your un-kind-ness to hear, And
j— y J g=
m f. , —
fii J~ -v JH^
^JgZ
-N=^S-
3tzi
SF
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS-
iJUft— g— — ^ ps ^— =T TT
-z*q ^ M±=^=*- J J f-g=f =^=
on - ly up -braid - ed my
-a^-a * ^ . ^--afe— *- ^ — ^ J —
Tom with a tear, And on - ly up - braid - ed my
rr-ff f^ Y T
g)3L — N: — — ^ — =j ^»
^_ =3 1 0 — 0 1
*/
"^P ^ [ = •---N-H J ^ -|
lent * — — *
A i '• j J ij J!-r
Jr'g^.J^JjjJjyJL
fe-^- t-if *
Tom with a tear. Why should J
5al, or should Su-san than me be more priz'd?For the
tffi r-1 | MJ =F
IE> — F =1 ^* ^ ~&.
pL_M_U=^L-L
«o
^ C — «i — J j-T-W 1
| ^ 0 • r
-—
' ~^s p -*- >^-
frlrc is ^
* t(* 1 ^ ^
iS^'fi f.. ' E "j"1 :
/ 1 if
heart that is true, Tom, should ne'er be de - spis'd. Then be cou-stant and kind, nor your
5£
-=»— S
i
1 X
-
^it=a
Mol - ly for - sake, Still your trow - sers I'll wash, and your grog, too, I'll make.
" Dear Molly!" cried Tom, as heaved a deep sigh,
And the crystalline tear stood afloat in each eye,
" I prithee, my love, my unkindness forgive,
And I ne'er more will slight thee as long as I live:
Neither Susan nor Sal shall again grieve my dear,
No more from thine eye will thy Tom force a tear:
Then be cheerful and gay, nor thy Thomas forsake,
But his trousers still wash, and his grog, too, still make."
THE JOLLY YOUNU WATERMAN. 157
THE JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAN.
CHARLES DIBDIN, the great English sea-song writer, was also an actor and a dramatist.
But his other talents were overshadowed by the one for which he stands preeminent. He
was born at Southampton, England, in 1745, and was educated with a view to the church.
When a boy, he sang in Winchester, and when sixteen years old, in London. He produced
an opera called "The Shepherd's Artifice," which was brought out at Covent Garden
Theatre, of which he became musical manager seventeen years later. He wrote for the
London stage with great industry for twenty years, and he says that for all that, work,
which included one hundred operas, he received, including his salaries and several benefits,
only £5,500. Much of this illiberality he charges upon Garrick. In 1791, he gave the first
of a series of entertainments of his own invention. They were entitled " The Whim of
the Moment," and consisted of songs, recitations, etc. He built a little theatre in the
Strand, called " Sans Souci." It was a gem; and Dibdin alone planned it, painted and deco-
rated it, and wrote for its stage both the words and music of the recitations and songs
which he gave there to an " organized piano-forte," which he had invented. It proved an
immense success, and song after song, of the thousand which he wrote, there awoke
'echoes that were never to die. Still, Dibdiu had but little scientific musical education, and
could not write accompaniments for his own exquisite airs, although he sang them glori-
ously. He somewhere says : " Those who get at the force and meaning of the words, and
pronounce them as they sing, with the same sensibility and expression as it would require
in speaking, possess an accomplishment in singing beyond what all the art in the
world can convey ; and such, even when they venture upon cantabiles and cadences, will
have better, because more natural, execution than those who fancy they have reached
perfection in singing, by stretching and torturing their voices into mere instruments."
In the introduction to his collected songs, he says : " A friend of mine, one evening,
dropped into a coffee-house, where a number of literary jurymen were holding an inquest
over my murdered reputation. He humored the jest, and, before he had finished, proved
to the satisfaction of every one that ' Poor Jack ' was a posthumous work of Dr. Johnson's ;
that the 'Eace Horse' was written by the jockey who rode the famous ' Flying Childers,'
and that ' Blow high, Blow low/ was the production of Admiral Keppel, who dictated the
words to his secretary, as he lay in his cot, after the memorable battle of the 27th of
July, ' waiting for the French to try their force with him handsomely next morning.'"
Air, as well as words, of the "Jolly Young Waterman," are Dibdin's, and the song
was produced in his entertainment of "The Waterman." Dibdin died July 25, 1814.
This piece was one of the most famous sung by Braham and Incledon.
*r*
• * T * 5* »•
—y— — N—
— P — s
-i-
N-
— --}
fjh£
1
2
3
11
^ * f « J *
— , _J_
1 -is
3*
i i
-H^-4
And did you not hear
. "What sights of fine folks
. And yet, but to see
1 1 r-
of a jol - ly young wa - ter -man, "Who at Black
he oft row'd in his wher-ry ; 'Twas clean'd out so
how strangely things hap-pen, As he row'd a - long,
- fri - ar's bridge
nice, and so
thinking of
1
^T)~Q
\>p o
•F -}?J * *=^
r,_-=:
3 '
— « —
=i— 7-
— 5
-1-
^
-!7—
— i —
__ ij — *f-
— 1— j
• * •
•*•
3
— i —
•t,
—5
•
~f~
— i — •
•*
-*—
-0f
•j -
^
"M
ft ' T ••• 1 '
—=««=.
-i-
•• - •
1
t~* -
•••
. ^_
-rH
158
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
—1^—0.-
used for to ply; And he fcath - erM his oars with nuch skill and dex - ter - i - ty,
painted with - al; He was al - ways "first oars" when the fine ci - ty la - dies In a
noth-ing at all, He was ply'd by a dam - sel so love-ly and charming, That she
— i ^™ — i — ~F"*^™^5ZZ
^^ m
Winning each heart and de -light - ing each eye. He look'd so neat, and rowrd so stead-i - ly,
par-ty to Ra- ne - high went, or Vauxhall, And oft- times would they be giggling and leer • ing;
smil'd, and so straightway in love he did f all; And would this young damsel but bun-ish his sor-row,
^^Et4l?=M^lllP=: (_-- -_-•
— g -0 0 ' g ^ 1 — > 0 -4
•*• •*• > — y — "*"
&
=^=f=+*=& 3S^^H^
-0-^- — ^ •^%l £— Irf— f— i — b— f-^ —
V ,J
•"^
The maid -ens all flock'd in his boat so read-i - ly ;
But 'twas all one to Tom, their gib-ing and jeer -ing;
He'd wed her to - night, be - fore e'en to - morrow,
And he
For
And
j=-9— ^zg=j=±j=_=S=gi=^
eyed th^ young rogues with so charm -ing an air, He eyed the younjr rogues with so
in.!,' or lik - ing he lit - tie did care, For lov - ing ' or lik - ing he
how should thin wa-ter-man ev - er know care, And how should this wa-ter-man
THE JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAN.
159
=££= Efc= EMi E^=*b=^ fl
charm - ing an air,. That this wa-ter -man ne'er was in
lit - tie did care, For this wa - ter - man ne'er was in
ev - er know care, When he's mar - ried and ne'er was in
want of a fare,
want of a fare,
want of a fare.
jjj—
JAMIE'S ON THE STORMY SEA.
THERE is no clue whatever to the authorship of these words. The music was com,
posed by BERNARD COVERT, now a very aged man, but hale and hearty, living at Jamaica,
Long Island, where he was born. He dresses quaintly, like an old Continental, and with
voice unimpaired still sings his own songs to perfection. Within a few years, he has trav-
elled with a concert company.
1. Ere the twi - light bat was flit - ting, In the sun - set,
— * r— — — f— r P f f—
=5 yi j?P±^3 s p U— nzE
her knit - ting,
-f « f—
1
- -js s — [s js-4 -"I* — jx— -^=^— f^ij— ,1—
Sang
r i
sit - ting Un - der - neath her thres - hold tree.
And as day - light died be - fore us, And the ves - per star shone o'er
a^ — r a=p
— 4 — 0 4 ^ —
— 1 — 0 f f
Fit - ful rose
ten - der cho - rus, "Ja - mie's on the storm
160
OUR FAMILIAR SONGX.
Ere the twilight bat was flitting,
In the sunset, at her knitting,
Sang a lonely maiden, sitting
Underneath her threshold tree ;
And as daylight died before us,
And the vesper star shone o'er us,
Fitful rose her tender chorus,
'•Jamie's on the stormy sea."
Curfew bells, remotely ringing,
Mingled with that sweet voice singing,
And the last red ray seemed clinging
Lingering!}' to tower and tree.
Nearer as I came, and nearer,
Finer rose the notes, and clearer ;
Oh ! 'twas charming thus to hear her, —
"Jamie's on the stormy sea."
Blow, thou west wind, blandly hover,
Round the bark that bears my lover;
Blow, and waft him softly over
To his own dear home and me ;
For when night winds rend the willow,
Sleep forsakes my lonely pillow,
Thinking of the raging billow,—
Jamie's on the stormy sea."
How could I but list, but linger,
To the song, and near the singer,
Sweetly wooing heaven to bring her
Jamie from the stormy sea.
And while yet her lips did name me,
Forth I sprang, my heart o'ercame me,
" Grieve no more, love, I am Jamie,
Home returned to love and thee."
THE LASS THAT LOVES A SAILOR.
THIS song, of which both words and music were his, was the last that CHARLES DIBDIN
wrote. He died in 1814, and his son, Thomas Dibdin, wrote the following stanzas upon his
monument, at Greenwich :
Stop I shipmate, stop ! He can't be dead,
His lay yet lives to memory dear:
His spirit, merely shot ahead,
Will yet command Jack's smile and tear!
Still in my ear the songs resound,
That stemmed rebellion at the Nore I
Avast! each hope of mirth's aground,
Should Charley be indeed no more!
The evening watch, the sounding lead,
Will sadly miss old Charley's line.
" Saturday Night" may go to bed, —
His sun is set, no more to shine !
" Sweethearts and "Wives," though we may sing,
And toast, at sea, the girls on shore ;
Yet now, 'tis quite another thing,
Since Charley spins the yarn no more I
"Jack Rattlin's" story now who'll tell?
Or chronicle each boatswain brave?
The sailor's kind historian fell
With him who sung the " Soldier's Grave ! "
" Poor Jack 1 " " Tom Bowling ! " but belay !
Starboard and larboard, aft and fore,
Each from his brow may swab the spray,
Since tuneful Charley u no more!
The capstan, compass, and the log
Will oft his Muse to memory bring;
And when all hands wheel round the grog,
They'll drink and blubber as they sing.
For grog was often Charley's theme,
A double spirit then it bore ;
It sometimes seems to me a dream,
That such a spirit is no more.
It smoothed the tempest, cheered the calm,
Made each a hero at his gun ;
It even proved for foes a balm,
Soon as the angry fight was done.
Then, shipmate, check that rising sigh
He's only gone ahead before ;
For even foremast men must die,
As well as Charley, now no more !
1. The moon on the o - cean was dim'd by a rip - pie, Af - ford - ing a che - quered
z-^-sw
LOVES A SAIL on.
161
-* — I I — t-
£=3==£l
:=3z=p=c:
light;
The ga7> J°l - ty tars pass'd the word for a tip - pie, And the
toast, for 'twas Sat - ur - day night.
Some sweet - heart or wife, He
^E*33= =^f f J J l^^q=^F
— ^?— «— =^— —w—r^* « * '
lov'd as his life, Each drank, and wish'd he could hail her ; But the standing toast that
pleas'd the most, Was "the wind that blows, the ship that goes, And the lass that loves a sai - lor."
Some drank " the Queen," some "our brave
ships,"
And some "the Constitution; "
Some, " may our foes and all such rips
Yield to English resolution!"
That fate might bless some Poll or Bess,
And that they soon might hail her;
But the standing toast that pleased the most,
Was " the wind that blows, the ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor."
Some drank "the Prince," and some "our
land,"
This glorious land of Freedom;
Some, "that our tars may never want
Heroes bold to lead them ; "
That she who's in distress may find
Such friends that ne'er will fail her ;
But the standing toast that pleased the most,
Was "the wind that blows, the ship that goes»
And the lass that loves a sailor."
(11)
162
OUR FAMILIAR SONGHi.
POOR TOM.
THIS song of DIBDIN'S was composed for his entertainment of " The Waterman," one
of the series he gave in his own theatre. One can hardly sing it without recalling Silas
Wegg's unspeakably ridiculous application of it, when he dropped into poetry in Boffin's
Bower.
> * N
£3
Nev - er -
^^.
1. Then, fare-well I my trim -built wher-ry, Oars, and coat, and badgp, fare-well!
2. But to hope and peace a stran-ger, In the bat - tie's heat I'll go, Where, ex -
3. Then, may- hap, when homeward steer -ing, With the news my messmates come, E - ven
m
U J •) JlT
more at Chel - sea fer - ry, Shall your Thorn - as take a spell ; Then, fare
pos'd to ev - 'ry dan - ger, Some friend - ly ball may lay me low, But to
you, my sto - ry hear -ing, With a sigh, may cry "poor Tom!" Then, may
*J — * — — NS-«-^
- well! my trim -built wher-ry. Oars, and coat, and badge, fare - weTTl Nev- er -
hope and peace a stran-ger, In the bat - tie's heat I'll go, Where, ex, •
- hap, when home-ward steer- mg, With the news my mess-mates come, E - ven
more at Chel -sea fer-ry Shall your Thorn - as take a spell, Shall your
ry dan-ger, Some friendly ball.... mav lay me low, Some f ricnd-ly
jyou. my _sto- ry hear-ing, With a sigh may cry " poor Tom !» With a
riten.
Thorn - as take a spell,
ball may lay me low.
sigh, /nay cry "poor Tom!"
lea
G^ - .^ — * 3 — \H
I N« V»
— . —
— . —
— . —
— - — H
fisL-B — fj r j « J_
^p — -— —
~i
It
TOM BOWLING.
"TOM BOWLING" is one of CHAKLES DIBDIN'S most characteristic productions.
The original of the song was his oldest brother, Tom, many years his senior. He was a
noble tar, and was for a long time captain of a vessel in the India service. He married in
Calcutta, after obtaining the first marriage license ever granted in India. His wife says in
one of her letters : " I name him, and think him, my Tom of ten millions ; ten thousand is
not giving him his full value.*' He died while his famous brother Charles was still very
young ; but his memory will long live in " Tom Bowling." The song, of which the air also
is Dibdin's, was introduced into the author's play called " The Oddities."
May not Tom Bowling have been the model of the so-called new "school" of poetry,
in which Bret Harte and John Hay are the most conspicuous pupils?
_*,— H*l=F=
-=§E^E^f^E
&
Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowl ins, The dar -ling of our crew;
No
more he'll hear the tern - pest howl - ing, For death has broach'd him to.
His
164
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
form was of the man - Hest beau - ty, His heart was kind and soft;
h
y "
cres.
rf 5 5
V
•- -*^»=,
_z|— EEn:
P^^t i
(: ^
_ _ ^= ^fefcr
. ad lib
=I^!E
Faith -ful be -low, he did his du - ty, But now he's gone a - loft, But
1 IZg- — ~ I ^ — J j/*~ 0 L,^ <? U
_ __
now ht-'s gone a - loft
5Ef^|
— .,_ .]. — I— ^^^ j ^ _j r**^— j ^C^ w^ '"'
2. Tom nev-er from his word de - part - ed, His vir - tues were so rare;.... His
J
^ g:
(2--
I • 1 ^^ *
*j*=-l=^
,-<2-
*=3
friends were ma- ny, and.... true- heart - ed, His Poll was kind and fal?^-- And
TOM BOWLING.
165
_
then he'd sing so blithe and jol - ly, Ah! ma-ny'a the time and oft; But
=
-±
%=±3sssz3=£=
- — i-g- ; — -—
-z5- -r
-i
?=
^sflflT lib.
mirth is turn'd to mel - an - chol -ly, For Tom i9 gone a - loft, .
And
§z^b=g
^^
=
now ho's gone a - loft.
colla -voce.
ritard.
f-~m
f- f
^^^afe^^^E-r~-^g=£
5r i, i F jIJ=z?=*^j»3:U^^L:
3. Yet shall poor Tom find pleas - ant weather, When He, who all com - mands, Shall
166
OUR FAMILIAR SONGH.
~72 — *_• — T ^afa: -*t . *~ k K I -T.
givci to call life's" Trew to-geth-er, The word to pipe all hands; Thus
fc
/*/
'TSi Z . -^ — — -,
if-j*— g-}g zf==^.^^z3pt^±=i5:
t^ — — I — • — ; — -^ * —
death, who kings and tars des - patch-es, In vain Tom's life hath doff'd,.... For
3PFt=^t==*=i=z=^*
though his bo - dy's un - der hatch -es, His soul is gone a - loft,
EEE*ii:
soul is gone a - loft
_^^_ 1 1
£^i: 3
Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,
The darling of our crew ;
No more he'll hear the tempest howling,
For death has broached him to.
His form was of the manliest beauty,
His heart was kind and soft;
Faithful below, he did his duty,
But now he's gone aloft.
Tom never from his word departed,
His virtues were so rare ;
His friends were many, and true-hearted,
His Poll was kind and fair;
And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly,
Ah ! many's the time and oft;
But mirth is turned to melancholy,
For Tom is* gone aloft.
Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
When He, who all commands,
Shall give, to call life's crew together,
The word to pipe all hands;
Thus death, who kings and tars despatches>
In vain Tom's life hath doff'd,
For though his body's under hatches,
His soul is gone aloft.
THE ARETHUSA. 1<J7
THE ARETHUSA.
PRINCE HOARE, who wrote the words of "The Arethusa," was born in Bath, England,
In 1755. His father was a painter, and the son studied the art with him, and became some-
what noted as a painter of portraits and historical pictures. He went to Rome to continue
painting, but finally relinquished that pursuit, and adopted literature as a profession. In
eleven years, he wrote twenty plays ; some of them successful comic operas, and musical
farces. One of these is " No Song, no Supper," another is " Lock and Key." He died at
Brighton, December 22, 1834.
The "Arethusa" was a frigate of 850 tons, carrying thirty-two guns. She was built by
the French, from whom she was captured, by two British frigates, in Audierne Bay, May
18, 1759. In 1778, she was commissioned for active service in the British navy, and sailed
in the fleet of Admiral Keppel. In June, she fought a drawn battle with the French frig-
ate, " Belle Poule," in which she lost eight men killed, and thirty-six wounded, and was so
badly knocked to pieces that she had to be towed back to the fleet. Her antagonist lost
forty-eight killed, and fifty wounded. In March, 1779, the "Arethusa," trying to escape a
pursuing French line-of-battle-ship, struck in the night on a reef near Molines, in the
British channel, and went to pieces. All on board except one boat's crew were made
prisoners.
The music of "The Arethusa" is attributed to WILLIAM SHIELD; but Samuel Lover
says it was composed by CAROLAN, an Irish minstrel, and " has been shabbily purloined by
Shield." Some coDections of English music speak of it as arranged by Shield, from an
ancient melody.
Allegro.
Con Spirito.
1. Come all ye jol - ly sai - lors bold, "Whose hearts are cast in hon -or's mould, While
^-^^=•=1?
Eng-land's glo - ry I un - fold, Huz - za for the A - iv - thu - sa !
3E=^=u— 4+^g^ggfe
3==£= ^HSr-^s — ±j*LJ-±!2 ?^r i EJ
9 9 ^^ *ljE. "^^f
• ~^i 5* 9
• ^^ •
168
•Ji'll FAMILIAlt SONGti.
.u- ^ 0 .- — * * -K I - — i f • 'f^f ""*'• P^! — J
She is a fri - gate, tight and brave, As ev - er stemm'd the
> p — A_ ii x — iq
~*~~~T"» ~« JJ3H ' I
HZ ^
i —
t=3
dashing wave; Her men are staunch to their fav-'rite launch, And when the foe shall
t \*9 : i~ v \ A I » i
^M^— ^=3 1= -±g=|-- ^ 1- -4
3=?
meet our fire,
Soon -er than strike, we'll all ex - pire, On board of the A - re
*
- thu - sa.
p=i:
d 0 ^ * — i— -
«=
2. "Twaswith the spring fleet she went out. The Engr - lish Channel to cruise a -bout. When
6. On deck five huu-dred men did dance, The stout - est they could find in France, We
THE ABE THUS A.
169
four French sail, in show so stout, B >re down on the A - re - thu - sa.
with two huu-dml did :id -vance, Ou board of the A - re - thu - ea.
Ej— d==i*-
tt J=J u
The fam'd Belle Poule straight ahead did lie, The A - re - thu - sa
Our cap - taiu hail'd the Frenchmen, " ho!" The French -men they cried
izi*: == ~= r
_* t — ipq. =q *— .1
— i 1 — j_.« ___ _ t x
f 9 ^ — *-— f-F»—
scorn'dto fly; Not a sheet, or a tack, Or a brace did she slack,Tho' the Frenchmen laugh'd, and
out," hel-lo ! " "Bear down, d'ye see, To our ad - miral's lee." " No,no," said the Frenchmen,
Js — i- — j — h
-__, >. i^ .^
=£=3=^
thought it stuff. But they knew not the hand -ful of men, so tough, On board of the A - re -
"that can't be ;"" Then I must lug you a - long with me," Says the sau-cy A - re -
^1
4*3 -* f
- thu - sa.
• thu - sa. A +. ~-
-|— t^.«_,_*_-_
-f 1 i i — r^ — — r—
p=it=±==ifl^
<-t~P.£^-~I^l-L-^^=J * 1 1-:
-Z._-*JF^i-±as>— •—%—-• — j — p-
t "±iJ3~t
170
OUR FAMILIAR SONOS.
4. The fight was off the Frenchman's land, We drove them back up - on their strand, For we
j^Pj— ^— J=E£
=:t=p=*— I € 4=q
fought till not a stick would stand Of the gal - lant A - re - thu - sa.
^Gi_ ^ ^^ I.'
: EBE^dE Es=j^Ed
-^- 0-
And now we've driv'n the foe a - shore, Nev - er to fight with
i J__J_. ~—
_ _ ^ ^T.T -r ^ .
_ \ IZJJ \ _ 5 \ .
z-lzi —I— —I—
I_l J
E|E
Britons more1, Let each fill a glass to his fav - 'rite lass, A health to the captain, and
.
THE ARETHUSA.
Ill
of -fi -cers, true, And all that be - long to the jo - vial crew, On board of the A- re -
/IN "
i . "I H_f i •> ~'i _^ _\
^"""""1 1
PTV
1 -'*
J ! _|
4 ^_it
- th
u - sa.
J{_ *T
tj '
:bt~~i — T — '"5;a^i — 1 — %~*' — 9s — ^i
— j ) ^ — 44
E55
-1
II
P * 7
^ J '<. \ -
2*«
=M=I
"• *f i i i* p 1 ii* - i* ^ &
._^u -f — i-4_
CAPTAIN KIDD.
CAPTAIN KIDD was not named Robert, and was not a pirate, — so say the historians of
latest date, in spite of tradition and old songs. His name was William, and he was born in
Greenock, Scotland, in 1650. He followed the sea from his youth, and was sent by the
British government against pirates. He was finally accused of turning pirate himself, and
of murdering one of his men. He landed at Boston, and was arrested by the Governor,
and sent to England. There he received a scandalously unfair trial ; being allowed no
counsel, and no opportunity to send for witnesses or papers, although he stoutly protested
his innocence, and his ability to clear himself from both charges. He was hanged, with
nine of his associates, in London, May 24, 1701. The wonderful tales of his treasure, hid-
den somewhere on the American coast, have gone from lip to lip for more than a century ;
and every school-boy still feels an impulse, at some time, to start off with spade and pick-
axe, iD search of the buried gold. Poe's ingenious story of " The Gold Bug" is founded
upon this legend. I can learn nothing of the history of the ballad, but it is evidently of
.English origin.
L^2- J
:?=f-?:
— rl—
-f— tn
— i —
I
—\ —
r —
-fc-4 —
I j : 15
f^il
1. You
A •
:M i
cap
£" — ^»
-j
•
- tains
*
_. *
^— i-i
bold and
^ *
-W-
brave,
_^"
hear
- M
-Sj—
— s-
j
our
— » —
1
!
1 mrr-l- —
: to-*-
cries, hear
— £ 0—~ —
F-JI* — — »^~
-£-j-ff*- -i^^8L-
our cries, You
/c\^~""^
_- , * f f
ill '
p
-f- \-b-
>
i^
-g— g-4
— i
-^r-
-V—
[
_|
-^-
^
, _
• 5
1 72
si
^ ^ ^
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
XTN
*S Zte*- *•-?— *SJ / Jn
R— *— p^EjE^gE E;E^[
n
- tains, bold and brave, hear our cries ; You cap-tains, brave and bold, tho' you
cap - tains, bold ana Drave, near our cries ; i ou cap-iams, orave aim ooia, tno7 you
_ - _ /TN s
X > £ & i i/ •
p=r — p-j~: — ^~gE
— 5« 5—*Jti "if* — —^—i^^f.~
^.TnTi" un - con - trolled, :|| Don't, for the sake of gold, lose your souls.||:
2*y it'- » * •*
* — t ' — tr
You captains, bold and brave, hear our cries, hear
our cries,
You captains, bold and brave, hear our cries ;
You captains, brave and bold, tho' you seem
uncontrolled,
Don't, for the sake of gold, lose your souls.
My name was Robert Kidd, when I sailed, when
I sailed,
My name was Robert Kidd, when I sailed ;
My name was Robert Kidd, God's laws I did for-
bid,
And so wickedly I did, when I sailed.
My parents taught me well, when I sailed, when
I sailed,
My parents taught me well, when I sailed ;
My parents taught me well, to shun the gates of
hell,
But against them I rebelled, when I sailed.
I cursed my father dear, when I sailed, when I
sailed,
I cursed my father dear, when I sailed;
I cursed my father dear, and her that did me
bear,
And so wickedly did swear, when I. sailed.
I made a solemn vow, when I sailed, when I
sailed,
I made a solemn vow, when I sailed ;
I made a solemn vow, to God I would not
bow,
Nor myself one prayer allow, as I sailed.
I'd a bible in my hand, when 1 sailed, when I
sailed,
I'd a bible in my hand, when I sailed;
I'd a bible in my hand, by my father's great
command,
And sunk it in the sand, when I sailed.
I murdered William Moore, as I sailed, as I sailed,
I murdered William Moore, as I sailed ;
I murdered William Moore, and left him in his
gore,
Not many leagues from shore, as I sailed.
And being cruel still, as I sailed, as I sailed,
And being cruel still, as I sailed ;
And being cruel still, my gunner I did kill,
And his precious blood did spill, as I sailed.
My mate was sick and died, as I sailed, as I sailed,
My mate was sick and died, as I sailed ;
My mate was sick and died, which me much
terrified,
When he called me to his bedside, as I sailed.
And unto me did say, see me die, see me die,
And unto me did say, see me die ;
And unto me did say, take warning, now, by me,
There comes a reckoning day, you must die.
You cannot then withstand, when you die, when.
you die,
You cannot then withstand, when you die,
You cannot then withstand the judgment of God's
hand,
But, bound then in iron bands, you must die.
I was sick, and nigh to death, as I sailed, as I
sailed,
I was sick, and nigh to death, as 1 sailed ;
I was sick, and nigh to death, and I vowed at
every breath,
To walk in wisdom's ways, as I sailed.
I thought I was undone, as I sailed, as I sailed,
I thought I was undone, as I sailed ;
I thought I was undone, and my wicked glass had
run,
But health did soon return as I sailed.
CAPTAIN KIDD.
173
My repentance lasted not, as 1 sailed, as 1 sailed,
My repentance lasted not, as I sailed ;
My repentance lasted not, my vows I soon forgot,
Damnation's my just lot, as I sailed.
I steered from sound to sound, as I sailed, as I
sailed,
I steered from sound to sound, as I sailed ;
I steered from sound to sound, and many ships I
found,
And most of them I burned, as I sailed.
I spyed three ships from France, as I sailed, as I
sailed,
I spyed three ships from France, as I sailed ;
I spyed three ships from France, to them I did
advance,
And took them all by chance, as 1 sailed.
I spyed three ships of Spain, as I sailed, as I
sailed,
I spyed three ships of Spain, as I sailed ;
I spyed three ships of Spain, I fired on them
amain,
Till most of them was slain, as I sailed.
I'd ninety bars of gold, as I sailed, as I sailed,
I'd ninety bars of gold, as I sailed,
I'd ninety bars of gold, and dollars manifold :
With riches uncontrolled, as I sailed.
Then fourteen ships I see, as I sailed, as I
sailed,
Then fourteen ships I see, as 1 sailed;
Then fourteen ships I see, and brave men
they be,
Ah ! they were too much for me, as I sailed.
Thus, being overtaken at last, I must die, I must
die,
Thus being o'ertaken at last, I must die ;
Thus, being o'ertaken at last, and into prison cast,
And sentence being passed, I must die.
Farewell the raging sea, I must die, I must die,
Farewell the raging main, I must die ;
Farewell the raging main, to Turkey, France and
Spain,
I ne'er shall see you again, I must die.
To Newgate now I 'm cast, and must die, and
must die,
To Newgate now I'm cast, and must die;
To Newgate I am cast, with a sad and heavy
heart,
To receive my just desert, I must die.
To Execution Dock I must go, I must go,
To Execution Dock I must go ;
To Execution Dock will many thousands flock.
But I must bear the shock, I must die.
Come all ye young and old, see me die, see me
die,
Come all ye young and old, see me die ;
Come all ye young and old, you're welcome to my
gold,
For by it I've lost my soul, and must die.
Take warning, now. by me, for I must die, for I
must die,
Take warning now by me, for I must die ;
Take warning now by me, and shun bad com-
pany,
Lest you come to hell with me, for I must rtie.
THE HEAVING OF THE LEAD.
"THE Heaving of the Lead" was written for the operatic farce called "Hertford
Bridge." JAMES PEARCE, author of the words, was an English composer and song-writer
of the last half of the eighteenth century. He wrote a comic opera, " Netley Abbey," into
which Shield introduced " The Arethusa," to be sung by Incledon. George III. was so
fond of this opera, that he called for it more frequently than for any other afterpiece.
WILLIAM SHIELD, who composed the air, was a musician of note, born at Smalwell,
county of Durham, England, in 1754. His father was a singing-teacher, and instructed his
son in the art of music. On his death, William, then nine years old, was apprenticed to a
boat-builder. The boy's evenings were given to music, and he started subscription con-
certs in the little town. He composed a sacred piece for the consecration of a church,
which was much admired, and led to his promotion. He went to London, in 1779, joined
the orchestra of the King's band, and became the composer for Covent Garden Theatre.
In 1817 he went to Italy to perfect himself in his art. He re-introduced the minor key,
which had been almost dropped from English music. He was a favorite in private life,
being amiable and benevolent. His death took place in London, January 16, 1829.
174
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
ms.
1. For Eng - land, when with fav' - ring gale, Our gal - lant ship
2. And bear - ing up to gain the port, Some well - known ob
3. And, as the much - loved shore drew near, With trans - port we
up
joct
be -
f>
m
3^2
chan-nel steer'd; And scud -ding un - der ea - sy sail, The high, blue west-ern
kept in view; An Ab - beyTow'r, a ru - in'd Fort, Or Bea -con, to the
held the roof, Where dwelt a friend, or part - ner dear, Of faith and love, a
*
m
m
)
land ap - pearM;
ves - sel true;
match - lesg proof;
To heave the lead the
While off the lead the
The lead, once more, the
sea -man sprung, And to the pi - ]0t cheer - ly sung, " By the deep, nine !
,- man flung. And to the pi - lot cheer - ly sung, " By the mark, seven !
flung, And to the pi - lot cheer - ly sung, "Quar-ter, less five!
THE HEAVING OF THE LEAD.
^ tempo.
175
"By the deep, nine!" To heave the lead the
" By the mark, seven ! " While off the lead the
' Quar - ter, less five ! " The lead, once more, the
sea - man sprung, And
sea - man flung, And
sea - man flung, And
to the pi - lot cheer - ly sung, "By the deep, nine!"
to the pi - lot cheer - ly sung, " By the mark, seven 1 "
to the pi - lot cheer - ly sung, " Quar - ter, less five I "
/kfefcfc^^
*
a i==t
-4-=)-
N x 1 x
• j;^-j' ^-y —
«3 -*- + f •* -* -i- ^ g: J .
cres. f) colla voce. ^ — ^ *
\ ^
/^•\. ,
.
S^h k J -«
1
— J? —
1
. 1
3E
i — s—
asiS — *—
THE BAY OF BISCAY.
ANDREW CHERRY, author of the words of " The Bay of Biscay," was born in Limerick,
Ireland, January 11, 1762. He received a respectable education there, and was intended
for holy orders, but in consequence of family misfortunes was apprenticed to a printer. He
became a comic actor, and afterward went to London, where he was manager of the theatre
in which Edmund Kean made his first appearance. Cherry produced two dramatic pieces,
and a few fine songs. He died in 1812.
The air was composed by JOHN DAVY, who was born in 1765, near Exeter, England.
When three years old, he was thrown almost into fits from fright at hearing a violoncello.
He was shown that the instrument was harmless, and strumming upon it soon became his
greatest delight. At the age of four, he played quite correctly. Before he was six years
old, he used to frequent a blacksmith's shop in the neighborhood. The smith began to
176
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS,
miss horseshoes, and, finally, thirty were gone. He had tried in vain to tind the thief, when,
one day, he heard musical sounds proceeding from the top of the building. He followed
the notes, and lighted upon little Davy, sitting between the ceiling and the thatched roof,
with a fine assortment of horseshoes strewn about him. Of these, he had selected eight,
and suspended them by cords so that they hung free, and with a little iron rod he was
running up and down his clanging octave, after the fashion of the village chimes. The
incident became known, and resulted in his obtaining thorough musical training. After
finishing a course of study with a famous organist of Exeter Cathedral, he went to London,
and became performer in the orchestra at Covent Garden Theatre, giving lessons at the
same time. He wrote the music to Holman's opera, "What a Blunder!" and other suc-
cessful pieces. Incledon, the famous tenor singer, was waiting for a friend in a public
house at Wapping, when he heard some sailors singing an air that struck his fancy. He
hummed it to Davy, who founded upon it the air of the "Bay of Biscay." Incledon used
to sing the song with marvellous effect. Davy died in 1824.
Mr. Henry Phillips says : " One thing connected with the song, ' The Bay of Biscay/
always perplexed me; namely, why it was called 'The Bay of Biscay 0 !' I enquired, but
no one could explain the mystery to me. I looked into my geography book, and did not
find it there. Some one, at length, proposed a solution of the enigma, by saying, that the
marines — who were not good sailors — might have crossed those waters, and feeling very
ill from the roughness of the passage, enquired their whereabouts by saying 'Is this the Bay
of Biscay? — Oh! ! !' This appeared so very likely, that I adopted it as a fact." Phillips
made his debut with this song when he was but eight years old, in a country theatre. The
little tail of his jacket was sewed up, to turn him into a tar, and directions were given not
to let the audience see the hump on the back, produced by this ingenious method of cre-
ating a British seaman. He says: "The scene was set: an open sea, painted on the back
of some other scene, where the wood-work was more prominent than the water, and
unmistakable evidence of a street door appeared in the middle of the ocean. All was
ready ; tinkle went the bell ; up went the curtain, and the glorious orchestra, which con-
sisted of two fiddles and a German flute, struck up the symphony. As I strutted on, in
the midst of a flash of lightning — produced by a candle and a large pepper-box filled
with the dangerous elements — I began my theme — 'Loud roared the dreadful thunder/
pointing my finger toward the left-hand side of the stage, as if the storm came from that
direction, which unfortunately it did not. At the termination, I was loudly applauded ;
the whole company shook hands with me, all the ladies kissed me, arid, in fact, I was the
lion of the evening." The syllable comes from the Spanish form of the word Vizcaya,
being retained because the open vowel is of advantage to the singer.
Moderate.
jt-J2-^ -N-i — s" ~3&— ^ 0—.
J *^ m • f m ± ^ I ! a
— &T
@J?-4— V-4— *-T ~ [7— 0 §=^—{7 -fy l"^— * • \ j
1. Loud roar'd the dread - ful thun - der, The rain a del- uge show'rs,
i. Now dash'd up - on the bil - low, Her op - 'ning tim - bers creak,
The
Eaol»
((t) 4 — — * — * 1 —
•J • * .
P
0 - - 0 0 L « .^-^ ^_^_^_
l-j-0 —
la^^p — *[ 1 ^ s j» B T • • *-»-*
21^^1—2= -^ — ? J — 5_
^-M~
THE BAY OF BISCAY.
teqcterzi
clouds were rent a - sun - der, By light - ning's vi - vid pow'rs. The night was drear and
fears a wa -fry pil - low, None stop the dread - ful leak. To cling to slipp-'ry
— ? — * — szii-zr^q — *_irzf:
— * — — f — -&-
B j 1_0 41
• *
-4
i
^==5
tftzfc
dark, Our poor, de - vot - ed bark, Till next day, there she lay In the
shrouds, Each breath - less sea-man crowds, As she lay, till next day, In the
I
P-SC — --.-+ — ^J-* 1 + — -F **" F — ^- -I 7 —
* "tf-=F="t7-^ T F -P- — -f3 Z—
Bay of Bis - cay, 0 1
Bay of Bis -cay, O!
3izb=i=isz=:*=:
-£_5__^ 2 1 — J—0-
-*— l—
3. At length, the wish'd-for mor - row Broke thro' the ha - zy sky, Ab -
4. Her yield - ing tim - bers sev - er, Her pitch - y seams are rent, When
L ^^.X^ ^ "^"
(12)
178
OtfJ? FAMILIAR SONGS.
- sorb'd in si - lent sor - row, Each heav'd a bit - ter sigh ;
Heav'n, all bounteous ev - er, Its bound - less mer - cy sent,
The dis - mal wreck to
A sail in sight ap -
;;_4 • r P^t^^gf
:b= ^Vs; i-^-«r-=g^EIz
view, Struck hor - ror in the crew. As she lay all that day, In the
pears, We hail her with three cheers, Now we sail, with the gale, From the
/K
g==gY-*={^:
i
Bay of Bis -cay, 0!
Bay of Bis -cay, 0!
£5
—= Z^=fg-J-j _jl^ |— -*g? •"* g^-r^^^-^-j-^-T-j
POOR JACK.
ONE of the first of a series of entertainments given by CHARLES DIBDIN, was called
"The Whim of the Moment." In it "Poor Jack" made his appearance, and instantly
the public ear. The song brought its publishei twenty-five thousand dollars.
'ibdin, of course, was its author and composer, and he says that he sold " Poor Jack" and
eleven other songs for three hundred dollars. The foUowing incident is told of Dibdin's
He was in the hair-dresser's hands, preparing for his evening entertainment,
3 lamp-lighter mounted his ladder in front, and sent a cheery flood of light upon
the night. "A good notion for a song," he exclaimed, and, as soon as he could escape
3m the hair-dresser, he went to the piano and soon finished the words and music of "The
Lamp-lighter," which he sang with fine effect upon the stage that very night
While the fame of "Poor Jack" forbids its exclusion, I can not admit it here without
a protest against its pernicious moral doctrine.
POOR JACK.
179
Arranged by Edward 8. Cummings.
-v V V-
1. Go pat - ter to lub - bers and swabs, do ye see, 'Bout dan - ger, and fear, and the
J-
0r~ 0 0 0 0 0 0m '**»-
-* •*• -* -+ -+ -+ y -f
-*--
M=
—m f nzir: ====jc
* ^z=zpz=^=t=z^ ^-
like,
iiEE?ES3=SE:!EE
A tight wa - ter boat, and good sea - room, give me, And
, i
EEI «« \ | x
— 9, — — ~L * ^ . f
— ^1
-r -+
-?— — -y-f-j-
BEE; :rzs_
?-
t'ant to a lit - tie I'll strike.
Tho' the tern - pest, top - gal - lant masts,
m
^ 0-
-s-
smack smooth should smite, And shiv - er each splin - ter of wood, And
s
9 9.
4 *
3 — «
-+ -*
=fi
•^ 5
H
E
r
•
— s-
T * '
j 1
^-^^ —
5 5 i .
— !•
-*
i
-4 L^~
••• •
j«s — . — H — !> r
§EE^-1
shiv - er each splin - ter of wood ; •
=^~
Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouze
— • • — • — ^ *| — ^:»
if — H=— i ? — 3E
f
-*-
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
•fc
ev -'ry- thing tight, And un - der reef'd fore - sail we'll scud;
' g tf -^~ ' gy •"* jff1-"'
=z*=iz:iz:=: nil 4 teb^-iE'— =3~3"= matron1
r | » '' T p g a ! ^ ^ * '
- vast I nor don't think me a milk-sop so soft, To be tak -en for tri - flo ;i -
J-
- back,.
Forthey say there's a Prov - i - dence sits up a - loft, Tiny
4 *
-*—• *-
:?-
say there's a Prov - i - dence sit's up a- loft, To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack.
•*• TT * •*• ^TB 4
* s+
Go patter to lubbers and swabs, do ye see,
'Bout danger, and fear, and the like ;
A tight water boat, and good sea-room give me ;
And t'ant to a little I'll strike.
Tho' the tempest, topgallant-masts smack smooth
should smite,
And shiver each splinter of wood,
Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouze
ev'rything tight, .
And under reef d forsail we'll scud :
Avast ! nor don't think me a milk-sop so soft,
To be taken for trifles aback ;
For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.
~J
Why I heard the good chaplain palaver one day
About souls, heaven, mercy and such,
And, my timbers, what lingo he'd coil and belay,
Why 'twas just all as one as high Dutch !
But he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye
see,
Without orders that comes down below,
And many fine things, that proved clearly to me,
That Providence takes as in tow.
For says he, do you mind me, let storms e'er
so oft
Take the topsail of sailors aback,
There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aJoft,
To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack.
POOH JACK,
181
I said to our Poll, for, you see, she would cry,
When last we weighed anchor for sea,
What argufies sniveling and piping your eye ?
Why, what a great fool you must be !
Can't you see the world's wide, and there's room
for us all,
Both for seamen and lubbers ashore !
And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll,
Why you never will hear of me more :
What then, all's a hazard, come, don't be so
soft,
Perhaps, I may laughing coming back ;
For, d'ye see, there's a cherub sits smiling aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.
D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch
All as one as a piece of the ship,
And with her brave the world, without offering to
flinch,
From the moment the anchor's a trip :
As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides and ends,
Nought's a trouble from duty that springs,
For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino my
friend's,
And as for my life, 'tis the king's.
Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft
As with grief to be taken aback :
That same little cherub that sits up aloft,
Will look out a good birth for Poor Jack-
THREE FISHERS.
THE great English preacher, novelist, and poet, CHAELES KINGSLEY, was born at
Holne Vicarage, Devonshire, June 12, 1819. He was a distinguished student at Magdalen
College, Cambridge, and became rector of Eversley, in Hampshire. In 1859 he was ap-
pointed Professor of Modern History, at Cambridge, which chair he resigned to become
Canon of Westminster, and Chaplain to the Queen. His tour in the United States, in
1873-'4, will long be pleasantly remembered. He died in London, January 23, 1875.
While Mr. Kiugsley was a boy, his father was rector of the parish of Clovelly, and from
that little fishing village he had often seen the herring fleet put to sea. On such occasions,
it was his father's custom to hold a short religious service on the quay, in which not only
the fishermen, but their mothers, wives, sweethearts and children joined fervently. Years
afterward, at the close of a weary day's work, remembering these scenes, he wrote the
song.
"Three Fishers" was set to its most familiar air by JOHN HTJLLAH, who was born in
Worcester, England, in 1812. His comic opera, " The Village Coquettes," written in con-
junction with Dickens, and brought out in 1836, first made him known to the public. He
wrote a few more operas, and then gave his attention to establishing in England a style of
popular music school, which had proved successful in Paris. A spacious hall was built for
him, but was burned down in 1860. He was Professor of Vocal Music and Harmony in
King's, Queen's and Bedford colleges, London ; organist of the Charter-house ; conductor of
the orchestra and chorus in the Eoyal Academy of Music ; Musical Inspector for the United
Kingdom, and a musical writer of repute. He died in February, 1884.
3
If
^ /
1. Three fish- ers went sail -ing out in -to the west, Out
2. Three wives sat up in the light-house tow'r,And they
Andantino.
182
on; FAMIUM; SUSLIX.
in - to the west as the sun went down ; Each tho't on the wo-man who lov'd him the best, And the
trim'ci the lamps as the sun went down ; They look'd at the squall and they look'd at the show'r,And the
tempo.
m
-* N-
chil - dren stood watch - ing them out of the town ; For men
night - rack came roll - ing up, rag - ged and brown ; But men
must work, and
must work, and
;.;•;»• . \ ^«u
Q
wo - men must weep, And there's lit - tie to earn, and ma-ny to keep ; Tho' the
wo - men must weep, Tho' storms be sudden and wa - ters deep ; And the
^—F =1 1 — : 3=
,., i
3
J 21 J i_ 13
•P J 1~ d ^~r-- r~-
.... >
«
-
<
B — J -L-J ^zf=
y
L-^=— ^
_•
1— J-
Dim.
%
¥ 4 d ^. , ^. ' 1 H 4— ^-JJ
J 1 J J
;
*
1 — •
i J — j i
Cres.
t=
5=
• — •
THREE FISHERS.
183
un POCO meno mosso.
3. Three corp- ses lay out o"n the shin - ing sands, In tlie morn - ing gleam, as the
:fe£
Accel.
t t I IR^g
*=£
-f v-
tide went down, Anil the wo - men are weep - ing and wring • ing their bands For
f=£
r*//.
tempo.
ffi
^
*
those who will nev • er conic back to the town ; For men must work, and
*=*
N
J
wo - men must weep, And the soon-er it's o-ver, the soon - er to sleep, And good -
-=t
J*
m
3=
-=i — n-
Cres.
f
-ttr
/L
rV ^ rS hi fV—
—^-—f
i-; V^
— l 1
— I =j — ^ si-
KB
17 - by
-g-
1 . / J J J
e to the bar and
its moan ...
Dim.
ing.
-r— M l I
m — * — : — * — • — —
Cres.
P^ —^^ ' a—
*3
/*
=5=^5=i=
: ** *
^ ^'IT-
-P7" i ^ i
j i J j -i j J
-j- ^ « *
_• — *_• — ^-n
^=^
. -J-4
1~M
f? J~*
^H-r^
E^gE^S
184
OUR FAMILIAR ttONGN.
Three fishers went sailing out into the west,
Out into the west as the sun went down ;
Each thought on the woman who loved him the
best,
And the children stood watching them out of
the town ;
For men must work, and women must weep.
And there's little to earn, and many to keep;
Tho' the harbor bar be moaning.
Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower. i
And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went
down;
They looked at the squall, and they looked at the
shower.
And the night-rack came rolling up, ragged and
brown :
But men must work, and women must weep,
Tho' storms be sudden and waters deep :
And the harbor bar be moaning,
Three corpses lay out on the shining sands,
In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
And the women are weeping and wringing their
their hands,
For those who will never come back to the
town ;
For men must work, and women must weep,
And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep,
And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.
ARE THERE TIDINGS?
THE words of this favorite of former years are no doubt of English origin ; but I have
DO clue to their authorship. The air is by the well-known musician, SIR HENRY ROWLEY
BISHOP, who was born in London, in 1786, and was carefully educated there under
Italian music-masters. His first noticeable composition was "The Circassian Bride,"
which was destroyed in the burning of the Drury Lane Theatre, the day after a most
successful production upon its stage. Bishop was for fourteen years director of music
at Covent Garden Theatre, and for thirty years thereafter he was a leader in London
musical matters. Besides, to use his own words, " operas, burlettas, melodramas, inci-
dental music to Shakespeare's plays, patchings and adaptations of foreign operas, glees,
ballads, canzonets, and cantatas," he wrote niore than fifty operas, including "Guy
Mannering," and others that still hold their place j was for years director of the famous
"Ancient Concerts," was first director of the Philharmonic concerts, and composed
for the sac-red musical festivals. He succeeded Sir John Stevenson in arranging Moore's
"Irish melodies," and edited several musical publications, including "Melodies of Various
Nations," and the closing volumes of Thomson's " Scottish Songs," and also set many old
English airs to words by Charles Mackay. In 1842 he was knighted. At the time of his
death, he held the professorship of music at Oxford. In 1831, he married Anna Riviere,
who became the well-known vocalist, Madame Anna Bishop. In spite of the apparently
great success of his career, his closing days were clouded not only by bodily and mental
disorder, but by pecuniary troubles. He died, April 30, 1855.
i
the
ARE THERE TIDINGS?
185
s _ s
Are there tid - ings for a inoth -er, Who is mourning
for the
for
the
ifate=^"- N K 1 ^ ^=iz±^;zij- .-ftz=:g^i=3=j — J__
brave ? No, no, no ! She is freight -ed with fond tid
9 9 0_ J J «t__J_
-ft — >%—
••=*=
ings ; But no
:ig=i£q=qi -f^fcrirt
p5=^=i= =^ J-S-*Efcr
i f-0 0 0 • 1 _*v
p
:
But no tid - ings from the grave.
I N
tid - ings from the grave,
IIIs I
— • * «— — — * — \~& — v 0 0 — T - £ * *—r— — «'— T y n
*^|>=±_ — o= A—\5y- l^^ — » I_L c— I qiztzig±=:JI
g — tr"*1- — ^~=- ^— t— i ^i
from the grave.
=F ^-f^::
!ZTznz_-=zEz:Izt:=
from
the grave,
q^=^q
SgH
2. Do not ask me
why I has
_5t-iz^:
ten To each ves- sel
IX
that ap
s — ^. ^. JtJ ^
i — ,-• — » • — 0 — , — T~* — f~- *~^~~ 'zz*~
4-» »
:tir—
^ s.D-
&?irf4=i
-H-
^
- pears; Why so anx - ions, and so wild - ly,
c\i-?.~~ — L— — — — ^ — ^- — t— T— i— 1 1 1 — ^— i 1
gj^fc? lz=fc=Ei|£z^E=:=E^£=p=£=:
I wait the cherished hope of
^— j:
S^t:
1-^=3
=s
years; No, no, no! Though my search prove un - a - vail
=S==S=2=J:-^=L.__L
ing, What have
-«- *- *-
~t
I to do with tears,
£-j_j. j
What have J.... to do with tears?
fe^^fEEE|bEg
186
OUlt FAMILIAR SONGS.
^=^
5=i^=r
8. Do not blame me
when
I seek him, With these worn and wea -ry
9tfcts=fc
J J J.
i
13=
«=iif=t±
N
-*-—
I
;^=^^^=^^^I^E^^^Ep^
Efc=£
eyes ; Can you tell me where he per - ished, Can you show me where he
£**J£j)±
*=JF£3
f=p
3=£
5 —
lies? No, no, no! Yet there sure - ly
— » * » — , -» • *-
is some re
cord, When a
'-
A-
youth-ful sai - lor dies,
^
-J^^ K
^rm •
When a . youth -f ul sai - lor dies.
I I J
-* . • 1— . ^-l-m
rj"^1^! J . «^~j'~1''t- r~ I . ^^T
J=8=FH^P=--fc^=F4S= =^
4. Had I watch'dhim by his pil
JL^,
low, Had I seen him
on his
m
bier, Had my grief been drown'din weep-ing;— But I can -not shed a
~N >»-
=
tear. No, no, no! Let me still think I shall see him, Let me
III |* ^ ^ M.
-=£——•— T-* J «U J-
-f f:
_^-i.
_^ ^_
^:
AltK THE HE TIDINGS?
187
Fg=d ,_ g;~-
— *zjzij * — * — i
still think
he is near,
53
.
S^E
3tZ
Let me still think he is near.
A,. -J_J_J
^^Efl
3t=
THE SANDS O' DEE.
THIS exquisite song, by CHARLES KINGSLEY, occurs in his novel of "Alton Locke."
The hero says : " After singing two or three songs, Lillian began fingering the keys, and
struck into an old air, wild and plaintive, rising and falling like the swell of an JEolian
harp upon a distant breeze. l Ah ! now/ she said, ' if I could get words for that ! What
an exquisite lament somebody might write to it.' * * * My attention was caught by
hearing two gentlemen, close to me, discuss a beautiful sketch by Copley Fieiding, if I
recollect rightly, which hung on the wall — a wild waste of tidal sands, with here and there
a line of stake-nets fluttering in the wind — a gray shroud of rain sweeping up from the
westward, through which low, red cliffs glowed dimly in the rays of the setting sun — a
train of horses and cattle splashing slowly through shallow, desolate pools and creeks,
their wet, red and black hides glittering in one long line of level light. One of the gentle-
men had seen the spot represented, at the mouth of the Dee, and began telling wild stories
of salmon-fishing and wild-fowl shooting — and then a tale of a girl, who, in bringing her
father's cattle home across the sands, had been caught by a sudden flow of the tide, and
was found next day a corpse hanging among the stake-nets far below. The tragedy, the
art of the picture, the simple, dreary grandeur of the scenery, took possession of me, and
I stood gazing a long time, and fancying myself pacing the sands. * * * As I lay
castle-building, Lillian's wild air still rang in my ears, and combined itself somehow with
the picture of the Cheshire Sands, and the story of the drowned girl, till it shaped itself
into a song.'*
Lillian's fancied " wild air" could hardly have been finer or more delicately appropri-
ate than this one, composed for the poem by FBANCIS BOOTT. Mr. Boott has produced
many fine songs by writing music for lyrics of Tennyson, Longfellow, Scott, Byron,
Campbell, and others.
By special permission of Messrs. OLIVER DITSON & Co.
6*5 _l
H 1 I
•
! c
"*' f J r 1
*--* _H »
S 1 ^ •
A * * * i 1
a
| tt
»
» •
H- 1 «• * ' H*
1. O Ma -
2. The creep -
ry. go
ing tide
and call
came up
the cat -
a - long
Ej* V H*
tie home, And call the cat - tie
the sand, And o'er and o'er the
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
EaEF^:
ESZZtjtJ —
holm-.
sand,
And call the cat - tie home,
And round and round the sand,
=»
A - cross the sands of
As far as eye could
3
Dee, The west- ern wind was wild and dank, The west - ern wind was
see; The blind -ing mist came pour - ing down, The blind - ing mist came
!=£d=tr ; K
* — — ^JL^— *~ -• — »~ijj~ =i=«
wild and dank, was wild and dank with foam; And all a - lone went she.
pour - ing down, Came down and hid the laud, And nev - er home came she.
£T~*~~g=
3. Oh! is it weed,
J2-
*. £ ~
iy
or fish, or float - ing hair?
drown - ed maid - en's hair,
THE SANDS 0' DEE.
189
m
^=^—0 — 0 — n*1^. 0 ^==:F3 — :F~~i — -=:i
=b=t=bE35E — I' ' -* * 1
Was nev - er weed or fish that shone ; Was nev - er weed or
^B?ET^^±S^S^
bx==h=i±=^^=4==i=±±
—+—»•—»•— t- — f — t- — »•— f —»•—+• —(•—»• —*•—!• — (• — (•
•*•-••-»•-*• -••-•• •*•-»• -»•-•• •*••*• •*•-•• •*••*•
•s*-
•Z*=L
~&~
fish that shone, that shone so.... fair, Among the stakes on Dee.
±£=g= z*:=t= =3=3=. ±±c
*•
-£-'
s«f
3-
dim.
E^
«•"" *
^ rt tempo.
a*3?r;
^^3
:x
^^ ^^ 5^?^^?^
-zqj^t— zzvizni
j T^^Z==IZq==^^I=zfc^
— ^zu zz:qzz3j25h__
=|=|-Ej 53= -^s=t±=-t
zJ^B^E^^-^^-B^-Ffc^
4. They row'd her in
te^
a -cross the roll - ing foam, The cru - el, crawl-ing
T"
. , I A i i
""I
i~ * — &-
fhe
foam, The cru - el, hun- gry foam,
JEEEzzE ziz^zzn:
To her grave be - side the
p k.J
ISi
i^^;
^_« — « — ^. — 0.
:=izd — — fy—l j— i
-^ \-0—i—9 0 4
-i 1 -H
=l=:
sea; But still the boat - men hear her call, But still the boat -men
H g=|
11
J90
OUK FAMILIAR SONGS.
-ty. y — t H h
3M? * * — » — r
hear her call, Call the cat - tie homo, Across the sands o' Dec.
m
O Mary ! go and call the cattle home,
And call the cattle home,
And call the cattle home,
Across the sands of Dee.
The western wind was wild and dank.
The western wind was wild and dank,
Was wild and dank with foam :
And all alone went she.
The creeping tide came up along the sand,
And o'er, and o'er the sand,
And round and round the sand,
As far as eye could see ;
The blinding mist came pouring down,
The blinding mist came pouring down,
Came down and hid the land,
And never home came she !
Oh ! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair !
A tress o' golden hair!
O' drowned maiden's hair,
Above the nets at sea ?
Was never weed or fish that shone,
Was never weed or fish that shone,
That shone so fair
Among the stakes on Dee !
They rowed her in across the rolling foam,
The cruel, crawling foam.
The cruel, hungry foam,
To her grave beside the sea ;
But still the boatmen hear her call,
But still the boatmen hear her call,
Call the cattle home,
Across the sands o' Dee.
THE PILOT.
THIS song was written by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY. The music is the composition of
SIDNEY NELSON, a noted English song composer, who was born in 1800, and died in 1862.
Carrie Nelson and Mrs. Craven, the actresses and singers, are his daughters.
M *f i * "j~|
i i [ ~
K
i J . J )q_
— i —
— 1*^1
w ^
1. "Oh!
2. "Ah!
3. On
fe)gt n> t r=i
pi - lot, 'tis a
pi - lot, dan - gers
such a night, the
r—0 0 *-: A-.
4=1=4=^^=4=^
fear - ful night, There's dan - ger on
of - ten met "We all are apt
sea engulph'd My fa - ther's life -
the
to
less
deep! I'll
slight, And
form; My
J
r • g —
« i
1 [
' ' ^
r
3
1 — F— '
» — i
4 J J
7'£fJ? P/7, 0
— t— 1 J
r.
~T 1 — IK
-« — J-T— 4
-j — j- -f^r*r
— 1 — «^~
*M* • I'm 0 *
*
0 * • J IhJ
^J \
fj -0- -9- -0-
come and pace the deck
thou hast known these rag
on - ly broth - er's boat
* -*-•
with thee, I
• ing waves But
went down In
— f — p ; ^g.
-*- -* j^*
do not dare to
to sub - due their
just so wild a
1 1\
sleep." " Go
might;" "It
storm : And
^^-* U . L * i I
— ^ — i — __^
IT i* 1 r
— N ^— -^-
' '
(D; — \' — r — yj I^'~T
— N I-S--
^M ^^
J ^ J —
down ! " the sail - or crie
is not ap - a thy
such, per - haps, may be
• i *~ ' • • r r
i, "go down I Thia is no place for
," he cried, "That gives this strength to
my fate, But still I say to
thee ; Fear
me, Fear
thee, Fear
fft)^[ ff| \ r J J 1 1 I
£ = = p
t ^ , !•—
^/>ff't)' — \t — * p* 1 — jj-
"7 ^ P «£
f * r» 1 F~f"
f? f
^^^1 MBM!
1
j r \
"— '
* !
K ^
* i> \ *•'
h
1 — i 1 n
\Jf ^jt~ 1 — — * — — ij —
l-r-
— J K—
j — H
ICn
—5 ts
-\ U J —
— « 4^— H
_^ .£ * ^_l _^_ ^ ^_ f-u^ ^ 9 0 ' ^.. "
iy
not, but trust in Prov - i • dence, Wher - ev - er thou mayst be."
SH3? — f P
H li M
C p p
- <rv-H
F^# — 1 1 — p — u~r~
— pa — u..T... . |»
~irt~^Hl
i * — p — k-i—
TREASURES OF THE DEEP.
IT is always pleasant to think of the gifted sisters, MRS. HEMANS and MRS. ARKWRIGHT,
supplementing each other's work. In this song, they seem to have been unusually happy :
it is one of the finest of their joint compositions.
:
1. What hid'st
thou in
thy treasure - caves and
cells,
192
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
-f f -0—<<S.--
pearls,
and rainbow - col - our>d shells,
Bright things which gleam un -
•*•*•*•»
. _J| L_
X<5«-
:ri==
-*-T-
3EEP E5ES3p
-m ^ * * 4--V V — K v* '
_ __ _ _i__ ^^ ^ ^**
- reck'd-of , and in vain !
fc
Keep, keep thy rich-es,
mel - an-cho - ly
-t=t
=^3^F=£=\
i—3 1
=£
I
-t-tt 1 ._ H
S&-g^J=j=^=^
sea!.... We ask not, we ask not
/7S I I
such
3^SE^1
£EPE3
s
" ~i^ — — *- ^^^sZ ^^
^
4. But more,
the billows
and the depths have more !
•*•*••*• •* -+ •+ *+ *+ •+-*-+
g
—*-
High hearts and brave are gather'd to.... thy breast! They hear
not
9'j
IP
i
TREASURES OF THE DEEP.
193
n
now the boom-ing wa - ters roar, The bat - tie thun - ders
-gprf-rf
will not break their rest.
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou storm - y
zfcm ~i ~~^T-1 ^T "*r""~T~
fa?=l: i— zj^j^gEgf •*-|Tt-r£=P=
£ ? *
grave! Give back, give back the true
and brave I
-4-4-
n -<s^ -*.
t== =|= — )« pjgzugizriZ^r- ^iX- j=-— =5=
6. To thee,
the love
of wo - mail hath gone down ;
=-J4J >-J-
Dark roll thy tides o'er manhood's no - ble head, O'er youth's bright
/^
rr»=ii* — f — z-~ *-j-i fj -T—
l=zri J3=l'= -^Ti^^Z^f-*1^^ *-H~"— f
locks, and beau -ty's flow - 'ry crown, Yet must thou hear a voice — re -
. T-r -j =± "^
- store
the dead I
-s-
Earth shall re - claim her pre - cious things from
theel Re - store, re - store the dead, thou sea!
(13)
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells ?
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main!
— Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-colored
shells,
Bright things which gleam unrecked of, and in vain;
— Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea !
We ask not such from thee.
Yet more, the depths have more! — what wealth
untold,
Fardown,andshiningthrough their stillness lies!
Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,
Won from ten thousand royal argosies !
Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main :
Earth claims not these again.
Yet more, the depths have more ! thy waves have
rolled
Above the cities of a world gone by !
Sand hath filled up the palaces of old,
Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry.
— Dash o'er them, ocean ! in thy scornful play,
Man yields them to decay.
Yet more ! the billows and the depths have more !
High hearts and brave, are gathered to thy
breast !
They hear not now the booming waters roar,
The battle-thunders will not break their rest.
— Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave !
Give back the true and brave !
Give back the lost and lovely! — those for whom
The place was kept at board and hearth so long,
The prayer went up through midnight's breathless
gloom,
And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song.
Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erth rown ,
But all is not thine own
To thee the love of woman hath gone down,
Dark flew thy tides o'er manhood's noble head,
O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery
crown,
— Yet must thou hear a voice — restore the dead !
Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee !
— Restore the dead, thou sea !
ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP.
MRS. EMMA WILLAKD was an eminent teacher, and author of several well-known
school-books. But everything she wrote seems already antiquated, except this noble song.
Mrs. Willard's maiden name was Hart. She was bom in Berlin, Connecticut, February 25,
1787, and died in Troy, New York, April 15, 1870. Dr. John Lord has written her biography,
which is accompanied by two fine presentations of her striking face.
"Kocked in the Cradle of the Deep" was written during Mrs. Willard's passage home
from Europe, in 1832. The Duke de Choiseul was on board the vessel, and hearing her
repeat the first two lines, urged her to finish the song. He composed music for it, but his
air has been supplanted by the more appropriate melody of JOSEPH PHILIP KNIGHT, with
which alone it is now associated. Mr. Knight is an Englishman, and has composed many
fine songs, especially those that relate to the sea. He taught music in Mrs. Willard's
school, and also in New York city, but fled the country in disgrace.
3E^g= ES^gEf^g;
Se-cure I rest up - on the wave, For thou O!
^^^^^-—--^-^g^r^
~9 m, ' ii —
— + Jt — -(• J*r — *•
•*• -± •* -± •*
ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP.
195
Lord, hast pow'r to save.
te
I know thou wilt not slight my
=2=q=^fc£:qpd=l=j=
;— w — — lEtSfcJ. —£— ~ar~
±i*~=?-
jj — j — iir11*! "I
T
call,
For thou dost mark the spar • row's fall !
And
I
3=E=E
J{£=^= =25=£=£=i=?=f £= =£=r==Bl= =^=^~rr^-f . ,_{^Z ^F?4
^=>-^=^|^=3t=^i3E C— tz=:E^ n-^-^-i!!^— gg=— *-J:
calm and peaceful is my sleep, Rock'd in the cradle of the deep,
And
— —
l-y -- 1 -
- u - - ^
J - ^ - ^ *i
-B- — h •*• — -f
^^ — t- »^ — t-
,: — 1_ i
-- 1 — j
— r-J— t -p- — »• ^- — t- ^ — h-J- — h -H h-J- -r — t- — (• — I 1- — t- — I- — t- — I-
5f -£ ^? ^t ^ ^* "^^ ;»'*'^'"*':y *'^''*':*:'
iH^L^I^iii ^il
.-£_
1
calm and peaceful is my sleep,.
Rock'd in the cradle of the deep.
^•~.tr^r. ^r.tv"^
PP
H (~r* — ( P
S^
And such the trust that still were mine, Tho' storm-y winds swept o'er the
^4-+-^
=
Eg m
-+ -+
196
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
ff
-V /• >-
brine, Or tho' the tempest's fie - ry breath Eous'd me from
tr .*-£:
I
H 1 ' 1 h
— =H J — a — ^i — m — — a • 1 M "i
__ -£. -i 3fc -* •* -+ X — ••
-I -?-?^--*-^ •*• -j •*•
-*••*••*•*• •••
» ' m J_ m 0 - • * .
T H^=L4-I
sleep to wreck and death!
In o cean cave still safe with
I ; . ;iuj j_J M
^^=i!=^^— ;^^=*=3=:
**
^T=^
I
Thee,
The germ of im -mor- tal - i - ty;
And
&— 9*
^
^
-:-T~^ f I 1"
* _.r^zp -n^—
...... i - — „ J. — L— ^— -,-j^ •_,...— . --.M.
pp
-»- S f *~r
SEii ;-v-^PL=^=b=gg
cnha and peaceful is my sleep, Rock'd in the cradle of the deep
And
calm and peaceful is my sleep,
Eock'd In the cradle of the deep.
~tr^ ^tr' *.
SONGS OF NATURE,
And, loving still, these quaint old themes,
Even in the city's throng,
I feel the freshness of the streams
That, crossed by shades and sunny gleams,
Water the green land of dreams,
The holy land of song.
— Henry Wadsworth Longfettou).
The snow-drop, and then the violet,
Arose from the ground with warm rain wet;
And their breath was mixed with fresh odor, sent
From the turf, — like the voice and the instrument.
— Percy Bysshe Shelley.
Song should breathe of scents and flowers I
Song should like a river flow!
Song should bring back scenes and hours
That we loved — ah, long ago!
—Bryan Waller Procter.
I hear the blackbird in the corn,
The locust in the haying ;
And, like the fabled hunter's horn,
Old tunes my heart is playing.
— John Qreenleaf Whittier.
SONGS OF NATURE,
THE BROOK.
TENNTSON'S poem of "The Brook," has been set to music so appropriate, by an
^English lady, that it has become a drawing-room favorite, and I insert the song, although
I cannot give the name of the composer.
/L B-i * P
^_r\
V
J ' °
jr-jsi
I
s K n i P
un * j J
s
j^j
C1 CS
9
0 * 0
t
9 1
I
4 J
9 t
W 9
J
9 9 • 9
t) 1 ' ' •• ^
1. With ma-ny a curve my banks I fret, By ma-ny a field and fallow; And
2. I -wind a - bout, and in and out, With here a bios - som sailing; And
3. I steal by lawns and grass -y plots, I slide by ha - zel covers; I
;8: 1^^ ^^ R^ F^i R^ 1^*1 l^i m ^H Fp FM J~7"! ^H ^a\ ^^ ^M ^^\
A ** -*- ! -*J H-J h*-«l h*-J M-J h*- i r*-J M-J -*-J h*-J h*-J H-J h*-J h*-J h*- ' r*- '
-^r~ #j~i — ^=^*( — **
^ 4
1 - ~ *
' - •'••"'•
f ^ ~
ml ^ W --v •* —
fl .
m ^4^
•* ^
•— » • - « • * • »
9 w
• M »<H •»! « «1
*ZMH«_a «_
«r
— *~s
1* *1
1*1 1*1 1*1 1* *1 l*"1 1*
sLjz 1_^ ^-*-=i
1111
— 4-
i 1 f-
«»
t=E
-i i r H r H r J r H r
t^ "
<<k Jf(* V— =--
. ~-^_
3
1 1 *t J 1 .
•i J *i _ *i
a
1
i
i . j"T ! -1 — *l *i
-?:
£
:tp:
ma-ny a fai - ry lore - land set "With \vil - low, weed, and mallow.
here and there a lust - y trout, And here and there a grayling.
move the sweet for - get - me-uots, That grow for hap - py lov-ers.
I
And
I
3?
i
200
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
slip, I slide, I gleam, I glance, A - mong my skimming swallows
here and there a snow - y flake Up- on me as 1 trav-el,
here
mur- mur un - der moon and stars In bram- bly wilder - ness - es :
8va . .
I
With
I
Jl Jl 3 J^^JLR
^••••J^^^^^^i^^^^^ iMBM^ r- ^ ^ ^^^^^^^^^
dtjlp VT^jT^T^ q rf^^^— •g:=:^5 ^
•J. » -J. • — - /ji-f !••• 1
5 W
^
^
^
make the netted sunbeams dance A - gainst my sand - y shal-lows;
ma-ny a silver wa- tor -break A - bove the gold - en grav - el; Ami
I'm - po r by my shin-gly bars, I loi - ter round my cress- eg, And
Pj
1 — fr
s
PF ^L-
^ i
— N N — N s — ~ —
~=i f*~
=^
-**-*•
^. gj aL
-*L^ g
K'
gu, — ^V«_
»•
chat -ter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming riv-er. For
draw them all along, and flow, &c.
out again I curve and flow, &c.
may come,, and men may go, But I go on for ev-er, ev-er,
^ =fj
THE BltOOK.
201
I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.
By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.
Till last, by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river;
For men may come, and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles;
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.
With many a curve my banks I fret,
By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.
I chatter, chatter, as I flow,
To join the brimming river;
For men may come, and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling;
And here and there a foamy flake,
Upon me as I travel,
With many a silvery water-break,
Above the golden gravel;
And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river;
For men may come, and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers ;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots,
That grow for happy lovers.
I slip, I slide, I gleam, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeams dance
Against my sandy shallows.
I murmur under moon and stars,
In brambly wildernesses ;
I linger by my shingly bars,
I loiter round my cresses.
And out again, I curve and flow,
To join the brimming river ;
For men may come, and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
502
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
SOME LOVE TO ROAM.
CHARLES MACKAY, author of this lyric, was born in 1812, in Perth, Scotland, of an
ancient and honorable family. His life has been spent mainly in London, where he has
been an editor of newspapers, reviews, and books of antiquarian research, a writer of
prose, and a maker of songs. He composed many of the airs for the latter, and, in connec-
tion with Sir Henry Rowley Bishop, arranged one hundred of the choicest English melo-
dies. He visited the United States in 1857, and delivered a lecture in Boston, on " Songs :
national, historical, and popular."
The music of this song is the composition of HENRY EUSSELL. Of this singer, a com-
petent judge and a fair critic, Mr. Henry Phillips, says : " At the same period (about 1840),
a singer was gradually, but with the most decided certainty, gaining ground as a musical
entertainer. Belonging to no particular school, possessing no particular voice, not particu-
larly gifted as a musician, as a declaimer not particularly refined, — still, on he came, and day
by day advanced in public favor, casting into shadow the most accomplished vocalists, and
seizing with vigor and firmness subjects that enthralled the audience, held them firm
within his grasp, and overwhelmed them with a common sense wonder. Who was this
stupendous stranger? A lad of Hebrew extraction, whose father had a curiosity-shop near
Covent Garden, who sang when a little boy at the Surrey Theatre, in a piece called
" Gulli ver and the Liliputians," and who from that time had scarcely been heard of, till he
came, the herald of an enormous reputation, the most popular singer of the multitude in
England ; a man who in due time eclipsed even John Parry in everything but refinement.
This wondrous person was Mr. Henry Russell, whose name, long after he had retired, held
sway over the minds and hearts of the multitude. Let us see how all this popularity was
attained. It was not by voice, appearance, elegance, or knowledge, but by that uncommon
circumstance'possessed by so few — common sense. He adapted his themes to his powers :
he chose subjects well understood by the general public ; he gained the habit and power
of distinct articulation ; and the very coarseness which caused a shudder in the refined
listener, awoke the enthusiasm of the throng."
g:-.:(7.
1 — * — if
i — ~f — JH
K
3 j — iN
r— j -j
^ —
-> ft=j
(tb 4 J
i
\ -j — j^
1 «
»—
0
LL_J
*_^J
Some love to roam, o'er the dark sea's foam, Where the shrill winds whis - tie
The deer we mark, thro' the for - est dark, And the prowl - inj
* wolf we
g? '1 P 1
r * "E >
; =f=h
If f t 1
Mh
uTi r i
•- -*-
i=d
— 4—
— * — V —
— U — V-
— 1 1
» 1
• - -
• —
— i — ^
1
V- JH
c r
ga i I jT i
2C 5HZ3Z-ZI3!
rf—
X — 4 J
-I-1
R J^ — .j. v—
P i; 3 .3^ ' i 3 J 'f J ' ^'
free ; But a cho- sen band, in a mountain land, And a
track; And for rightgood cheer, in the wild woods here, Oh!
™-£ A ^ • f- • -5- f- r . f- ±>
life in the woo<'sfor
why should a him- ter
— 0 — —0 — •
SZ25S 1 •* \j
BE i * I/ |f
— F F F F F —
-h — h — 1 h — b—
1 1
1 1
1*
rrr
*^
P" ni
M^1
SOME LOVE TO HO AM.
203
rJjt-% \r j
E^r ~f~" fT~r~
f=- | J i J — -MHFa
y i- -^
me.
lack.
Suffer
^ — 2 — *-h-i^ 1 — &-=*=
1
Where the shrill winds wins - tie
And the prowl - ing wolf we
!•/•<• T~ "f" •*• * -0- •*- -0-
(<•>)$ — * — ^ — ss
i — ,rr r r • - 1* r ^g 1« — F~
i- ,urr r r r 1 |-
r r r u — b==
f^ — r — r — EEl
(_ — _ _ J_
^> — ^ — ^ — i
N. S IL !%
\f if | J J
L~* — J^ ^ J
&—a d^— d*
: — ft R ^ _a_
rffty d «£ ^~i — 5~
•"^"i — 8 5^~1
-0. — *— ip- — «ti-
Xvv
5 _i
! *, • *^ *
» , j j
free ; But a
track, And for
m ' ?• '
cho- sen band in a mountain land, And a
right good cheer, In the wild woods here, Oh!
£ « t I T £ F F f *^
life in the woods for
why should a hun - ter
r r r P .
r r r r r
1 ' II
-1 I I E : rl
cE: — * ^ — E
±5 — ?•-? r — F — i
T^
U x U jx
v is N ^ h
V V v \ V
*~i 1 & — N — K \n
Zu — ! — ~ — t* — fc~
N N
tid p — ; j
-— j -A B N—
I/TV J •*• J^
* J 4 • •
4 S
4 * f - J 4
S*z ^ f * *
• * _i i
9 • • WM*9. m 1
me. When
lack ? For with
i •»•••*• -f- •
morn- ing beams o'er the moun-tain streams, Oh ! mer - ri- ly forth we
stea - dy aim, at the bound-ing game, And hearts that fear no
fe)rt F ^ ' .
-£ — £- — « F : g
r 1 r *
r> — r — r — ^3
h*=ft=f===fc
I* ?v<^'l? r i*
j* U1 / —
I
A +f R
i-V p j fc* JH*T* b^ 1 ^
_j_j — p p ^ — ^
1 N t^
L/ ft J k R
I IS IV 11 IV l\ I "^ — _T^
J R s R 1
f( i j^ i
i ^ -00 0 0 0 0- '0 0 m*
<T fV (^ 0 m \
{ff^- <2 0-*- — *-, "
V. V. ! 1: h ! U V. '" 1 F
C3 * 1
t) [, p > * * 1 v v v v v ^.. 4. 0 • 0-^,0 0 1
go, To fol-low the stag to his slip - pery crag, And to chase the bound- ing
foe; To the dark - some glade, in the for- est shade, Oh! mer - ri-ly forth we
L • ~T
' ^ K — p~>- h bj? ^ — r-p-
99 1 W k ^ V~V V *
~^ ^^ I — f —
1
1 Jf h i\
— P — Js r\ j — — H— — hi —
^ N N i iZU.
m h ^ ^H
$r\. — — «£ '~ — ^r*~~
— 0 — 0^=>4 — 4 p-5 — 0 —
— *.-^^ — N — ^ i'
Saz * \ v
V, V: V,
, H i^, !
roe, To
go, To the
0 — *
/ V V V V " V V V \ j ^ ^1
fol- low the stag to his slip- per- y crag, And to
dark- some glade, in the for - est shade, Oh I
0 0^-0 0 0 • 0 0 0^-0 0 0 • ~*~
J • J^J tf C
chase the bound-ing
mer - ri-ly forth we
r r 4,
-I — 1 — 4 h
1 ^ — -F — 1
Ci/ Jt
L L .p L t • L
p LI p ^E
• • » — » •
p ?^V — P —
~r • r r
P
^ f r p b
f— T-^-F — PT
~i 1: — s: — IT"
0 r P -
[S N [S [V
._J N fi JN_
^ — ^ — ^— j
-C- «C- -i- ^0- * ^^~ ^^~ ^^~ *w~ •* ~Jr -*• ~ff~
roe-l Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!
go- j
«.K 4..S. ^ v «
V- V V V
t* u w
ho! ho! ho! ho!
— t—
m • • p
-f-, — f — T — r — i
1~h^ — r— ~H
~^T-
r r r =p=q
r J ;
-1 1^ b b1 '
804
OUR FAMILIAE SONGS.
rail
ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!
r
1
J 1
m
T
t *~
Some love to roam o'er the dark sea foam, Where the shrill winds whis - tie
i
free; But a eho- sen band in a mountain laud, And a life in the woods for
SE
r rrr r
And a
H*
life in the woods for me, And a life in the woods for me.
^
m
l
^£
-^T
CANADIAN BOAT SONG.
THE following song of TOM MOORE'S was written during his journey down the river St.
Lawrence. He says, in regard to its composition : " I wrote these words to an air which
boatmen sung to us very frequently. The wind was so unfavorable, that they were
obliged to row all the way ; and we were five days in descending the river from Kingston
to Montreal, exposed to an intense sun during the day, and, at night, forced to take shelter
from the dew.s in any miserable hut upon the banks, that would receive us. But the mag-
nificent scenery of the St. Lawrence repays all these difficulties. Our voyageurs had good
voices, and sang perfectly in tune together. The original words of the air, to which I
adapted these stanzas, appeared to be a long, incoherent story, of which I could under*
stand but little, from the barbarous pronunciation of the Canadians. It begins :
' Dans mon cheminj'ai rencontrf
Deux Cavaliers tres-bien months'
And the refrain to every verse was,
' AF 'ombre cTun boisje m'en vaisjouer,
A Fombre <fun boisje m'en vais danser.'
I ventured TO harmonize this air, and have published it. Without that charm which asso
CANADIAN BOAT SONG.
205
ciatiou gives to every little memorial of scenes or feelings that are past, the melody may,
perhaps, he thought common or trifling; but I remember when we have entered at sunset,
upon one of those beautiful lakes into which the St. Lawrence so grandly and unexpectedly
opens, I have heard this simple air with a pleasure which the finest compositions of the
first masters have never given me ; and now there is not a note of it which does not recall
to my memory the dip of our oars in the St. Lawrence, the flight of our boat down the
rapids, and all these new and fanciful impressions to which my heart was alive during the
whole of this very interesting voyage. The stanzas are supposed to be sung by those
voyageurs who go the Grande Portage by the TJtawas river. Sir Alexander Mackenzie, in
his account of the Fur Trade, says : ' At the rapid of St. Ann, they are obliged to take out
a part, if not the whole, of their lading. It is from this spot the Canadians consider they
take their departure, as it possesses the last church on the island, which is dedicated to
the tutelar saint of voyagers.'"
Faint - ly as tolls the eve - ning chime, Our voi - ces keep tune and our
A *- s Js
•9- -9- 4- 4_ *..«. ^- -f- .*- -9- -9j +- • +- -9-
—^==5 i/=! H/=* I — yt p -£ — *— ix =£ — Ix —
-2=-4
=t:
• H
oars keep time, Our voic-es keep tune, and our oars keep time;
$=£=*
.^__J
Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our part - ing hymn;
*• *• •*• +•
v
Row, broth -ers, row, the stream runs fast, The rap -ids are near, and the
•J* -9^ -9- ' -9- -9-
-* 9-
day - light's past, The rap - ids are near, and the day - light's past.
m
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
•' UTiy should we yet our sail un - furl? There is not a breath the blue
3. U - ta - wa's tide, this treinb - ling moon Shall see us float o'er thy
N
— -^ 0 ~ji. ' 9
g=R=— *— £= ~F5r::
wave to curl,
sur - ges soon,
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl;
Shall see us float o'er the sur - ges soon;
I
fL^^^^^_J_ _
^ E is !— — i-^—*r-
jEEJEaEgEEEEgEgEEj^
But when the wind blows off the shore, Oh! sweetly we'll rest the wea - ry oar;
Saint of this green isle, hear our prayers, O grant us cool heav -ens, and fav'ringairs!
* .n* A
CK— • — • — • — • — t-p£ — •— —P—
sEjrr;-~^=rir: EgEHF ^— *= =f =Ff ==!*=
$=3
-H 1 JS- r 1
IX X ^
j- -*s — T — ~ — rfr-
v
Blow, breez-es, blow, the stream runs fast, The rap - ids are near, and the
•*• •*• ^ ^
•»-•*•••-•'— •*•••— •*-•»• •*• -». -^ -*-'.-*--*-
i 1 — i 1 — T — « — i — i — * — 0_ «. — ^_
^^gEEEEfeJEgEgSEgEES=
?
3^3E
-te-
day - light^£ past, The rap - ids are near, and the day - light's past.
1
BRING FLOWERS.
MRS. HEMANS'S song, " Bring Flowers," must have been touched up by the same tee
totaller who revised the celebrated convivial poem of Oliver Wendell Holmes. In some
versions, the second and last lines of the first stanza are replaced by those which here follow
them in brackets :
" Bring flowers, young flowers, for the festal board,
To wreathe the cups ere the wine is poured.
[To crown the feast that the fields afford,]
Bring flowers ; they are springing in wood and vale,
Their breath floats out on the southern gale.
And the touch of the sunbeam'hath waked the rose,
To deck the hall where the; bright wine flows."
[The banquet to deck where the warm heart glows.]
The song was from the poem of "The Bride of the Greek Isle." The air is French.
BEING FLOWEliti.
207
•. -VH
board, To
path, lie hath
1. Bring
2. Bring
flow'rs young flow'rs
flow'rs to strew-
cup ere the wine is pour'd,
thrones with his storm- y wrath;
they are
with the
breath floats
vines lie
=«ZZ=*=-=^ =~
1 1 1 1 1 ! 1 1~| H V .^r— - K-r 1 |-|
^iv== ij=:r^i=fci=^i^:feifc=2==:t: i-= =1=
;— j=»-^— i-~ J^ "J"i^~j =J=i— J-i—~=
rose, To deck the hall.
day, ...... Bring flow'rs to die..
where the bright wine flows,
in the con - queror's way !
Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell,
They have tales of the joyous woods to tell ;
Of the free, blue streams, and the glowing sky,
And the bright world shut from his languid eye ;
They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours,
And the dream of his youth — bring him flowers,
wild flowers,
Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to wear!
Thev were born to blush in her shining hair;
She is leaving the home of her childhood's mirth,
She hath bid farewell to her father's hearth,
Her place is now by another's side ;
Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young
bride !
Bring flowers, pale flowers, o'er the bier to shed,
A crown for the brow of the early dead ;
For this its leaves hath the white rose burst,
For this in the woods was the violet nursed;
Though they smile in vain for what once was ours,
They are love's last gift — bring ye flowers, pale
flowers !
Bring flow'rs to the shrine where we kneel in prayer,
They are nature's offering, their place is there !
They speak of hope to the fainting heart,
With a voice of promise they come and part ;
They sleep in dust through the wintry hours,
They break forth in glory — bring flowers, bright
flowers !
208 OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
A SOUTHERLY WIND AND A CLOUDY SKY.
THIS is an old English hunting-song. It was first published in this country in the
New York Mirror, where it appeared in 1832. I give the air to which it was sung iu
England, and also the " round" with which many American readers will be more familiar.
Spiritoso.
@
?
m
~W~ ~w~
A south-er - ly wind and a cloud - y sky Pro- claim a hunt - ing mom <• ing; Be-
s
f
^
^±±
fore the sun ri - ses, we nim - bly fly, Dull sleep and a down - y bed scor n - ing.
To horse ! my boys ! to horse, a • way I The chase ad - mils of no de - lay I
I— fe=*E
S N
-N— t
-A N-
>
— * y-
On horse-back we've got, to-geth-er we'll trot; On horse-back we've got, to-geth-er we'll
m
trot ; Leave off your chat, see the cov - er ap - pear ; The hound that strikes first,chocr him without
•* — a ^T — a f f c — f—i — (* 1 — * — * — a —
/
-»
T;
lear ; Drag on him ! ah,wind him ! my steady good hounds ; Drag on him ! ah,wind him I the cover resounds I
How complete the cover and furze they draw !
Who talks of Barry or Maynell ?
Young Lasher, he flourishes now through the shaw,
And Sauce-box roars out in his kennel.
Away we fly, as quick as thought ;
The new-sown ground soon makes them fault;
Cast round the sheep's train, cast round, cast round!
Try back the deep lane, — try back, try back !
Hark ! I hear some hound challenge in yonder
.spring sedge;
Comfort bitch hits it there, in that old thick hedge.
Hark, forward! hark, forward! have at him, my
boys!
Hark, forward! hark, forward! zounds, don't
make a noise !
A stormy sky o'ercharged with rain,
Both hounds and huntsmen opposes ;
In vain on your mettle you try, boys, — in vain, —
But down, you must, to your noses.
Each moment now the sky grows worse,
Enough to make a parson curse :
Pick thro' the ploughed ground, pick thro', pick
thro'; —
Well hunted, good hounds, — well well hunted,
hunted !
If we can but get on, we shall soon make him
quake, —
Hark ! I hear some hounds challenge, in the midst
of the brake.
Tally ho ! tally ho, there ! across the green plain :
Tally ho ! tally ho, boys ! have at him again !
Thus we ride, whip and spur, for a two-hours'
chase, —
Our horses go panting and sobbing:
Young Madcap and Riot begin now to race, —
Ride on, sir, and give him some mobbing.
But, hold, — alas ! you'll spoil our sport,
For tho' the hound you'll head him short,
Clap round him, dear Jack, — clap round, clap
round !
Hark, Drummer! hark, hark, hark, hark, hark,
back !
He's jumping and dangling in every bush ;
Little Riot has fastened his teeth in his brush !
Who-hoop ! who-hoop 1 he's fairly run down !
Who-hoop, &c.
A tiOUTHESLY WIND AND A CLOUDY SKY.
1. Allegretto.
-f ; j J J
south-er - Iy wind and a cloud - y sky Pro- claim a hunt- ing morn -ing;
~>
zr-
K IS N f^' h" I1*
"'I K 1 ' fv
i
£ -N
J^ 1s y J — J — j-
_J JJ J 4J_
^ ft — ^ — ^ — fs — £L-
•> i.
1 — a •— — 0 '
fore the sun ris - es, a -
1 — 0 * * 0 '
way we fly, Dull
^ — *i — ^ — ^ JL ^ '
sleep and a drow- sy bed
t*P=p
•scorn- ing.
S fs
-K N N
zfgp-fs fv ,N- j* fnj
-j- 0 1 4 • w~^+-
To horse! my brave boys, and a - way!.-
. Bright Phce-bus the hills is a- dorn - ing I
N
The face of all na- ture looks gay,
3- //
'Tis a beau - ti - ful scent- lay - ing morn -ing!
Hark ! hark !
for-ward !
Tan-ta - ra, tan- ta - ra, tan- ta - ra !
Hark ! hark !
for-ward !
Tan-ta - ra, tan-ta-ra, tan-ta - raj
THE BRAVE OLD OAK.
THE words of " The Brave Old Oak " were written by HENRY FOTHEEGILL CHOKLET,
who was born in Blackleyhurst, Lancashire, England, December 15, 1808. He was edu-
cated at the Eoyal Institution, in Liverpool, and spent a few years in a merchant's office,
after which he was for thirty years musical critic on the Athenaeum. He acquired literary
as well as musical reputation, and published " Musical Eecollections," " Music and Man-
ners in France and Germany," a " Memoir of Mrs. Hemans," and one hundred songs. Ho
died in London, February 16, 1872.
The music was written by E. J. LODER, an English composer, who died a few years ago.
Slow.
song for the oak, the brave old oak, Who hath ruled in the greenwood long;
e's health and renown to his broad green crown, And his fif - ty arms so strong!
saw the rare times,when the Christmas chimes were a mer - ry sound to hear,
A
Here's hei
He __..
And the squire's wide hall, and the cot - tage small, Were
full of
En - glish cheer.
(S
\
There is fear in his frown,when the sun goes down, And the fire in the west fades out, And he
And all the day, to the re- beck gay, They car- ol'd with gladsome swams.They are
210
OUR FAMILIAR ^O.\o>.
f Ritani express.
show - eth his might on a wild mid-night, When the storms thro' his branches shout,
gone, they are dead, in the church - yard laid, But the brave tree, he still re - mains.
i
Then sing to the oak, The brave old oak, Who stands in his pride a - lone ; A
&E
it
jfL
:£=&
n= k f-
l ' i \/
tt
S
still flour - ish he,
A hale green tree, When a hun - dred years are gone.
+ s_
THE IVY GREEN.
CHARLES DICKENS was born at Landport, a suburb of Portsmouth, England, February
7, 1812, and died at his place of Gad's Hill, near Rochester, Kent, on the 9th of June, 1870.
He wrote several lyrics, of which " The Ivy Green," which appeared originally in the
" Pickwick Papers," is the only one that has become familiar. It was first published, as a
song, in this country, and when a London publisher wished to reproduce it in England,
Dickens refused to allow him to do so, unless he paid ten guineas to the composer, HENRY
RUSSELL. In his melody, it seems to me, the composer has failed to catch the poet's
meaning. Dickens's words are as sombre and tender as the vine that deepens the shadows
and softens the ruggedness of decaying grandeur ; while Russell's music is as free and
sturdy as the heartiest oak.
ad lib. a tempo.
I. A dain - ty plant is the I - vy green, That creepeth o'er ru - ins
old,.
Of-
•«-y-y~-g—4,- -S-^-^j?-*^
~*~ "** "*" ~~ ~* — —~ —"
THE IVY QBE EN.
211
— • — *J Ncr
right choice food are his meals, I ween, In his cell so lone and cold ; The
-» *
&=*
3=
-*-
.> ix—i-; KI-
wall must be crumbled, the stones decay'd, To pleasure his dain - ty whim, And the
Quassi pp a colla voce.
-£_ __± f. '
./^ TV
-V— v>-\-S—
mould'ring dust that years have made Is a mer-ry meal for him.
--_ — «-- -
f— > ^-T-T^ __ -n
-- -- — ==
i/Ts ,
P
Creep - ing where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the I - vy green.
Sva.
^=^
-J 1 T— — ' 1 i -i— I F * f j| -v *— l
U * P I-L : a L i 4-J 1 f F •• 1
* ,— ^»— I =P • — * — ^ — »— t-s — t-£~
1 1 H — I-H 1- — i 1 1 — 4—* — p— a — * — t^"* — 3
^ 0 ^— T^ X — .. ...i,.1 -"-f — r-^ J
•*• V -r -w
212
OUR FAMILIAR SONG&
ad lib.
brapjE-T-^gp^c
•-» *
Creep - ing where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the I - vy green,
8va loco. 8va^
— T— 1 1 K-T — — *~-*I^jr7Ji_
«;_;,! =t=g^Z=r--^ £==
2SB3|5BHBEE^E
T T
-* *-
-U.I; .
J
— K— * *— ~j ^5
KPl
Cr
8va
1 -* - '
-&•
eep - ing,
1 * 1 «L_ , * ___t
1—0 0 J
creep - ing, creep - ing where u
r —
o
•0
fm
- 4— 0
-*- — -*- •*- — -*- — -<
— i T — i ' f — • 1 T — i 1 ' h
t
ftfip y
f \
EEt=^ — ^==$— =r ti =!r=!i — ^
»
*T
CHrb
1 _,^"
-rt -j.-
-i —
3PSE
i — ; * 7 « 01* i— ^ ? s— i 7 ;
— a 1 — « « * — _ f — i — ^ ^_ — m 1
E
zzzl
-*•'•*•
life is seen,
8va...
Creep - ing,
Creep - ing,
dz:
7 1>
-
m
-+ -+ •+
rare old plant is the I
8va ............. loco.
vy green.
S=^
r
> I
B
JE^i^-1^^^
8-va
THE IVY GREEN.
loco.
213
' — #
g= ;*E:*=ft»-«— =f^? ^r — ^-d^-?1^^ =§E
2. Fast he steal - eth on, tho' he wears no wings, And a staunch old heart has he,.... How
3. Whole a -ges have fled, and their works decay'd, And nations have scat - ter'd been; But the
closely he twineth, how tight heelings To his friend, the huge oak tree! And
stout old I - vy shall uev - er fade, From its hale and heart - y green; The
li!lp^|E^ppplp^=fpEpppPllpll
L"V»__I. ~ ! ' i f ~~i '
gg=j=?=j=:::^::==f=r=^==[g:=¥=j=::j
T - ... — . TT~T — p^ —
sly - ly he trail-eth a -long the ground, And his leaves he gent - ly waves, As he
brave old plant, in its lone - ly days, Shall fatten up- on the past; For the
5=i=FZ
!E=E3
Quassi pp a colla voce.
$£3r=a:
— *-
—9 1 *
t^rri.
JEE^E^=f=^
IP I V— L
E
joyous - ly twines, and hugs a - round, The mould of dead men's graves,
stat - li - est build - ing man can raise Is the I - vy's food at last.
8va.
p — — - | <T ry »
•••-.• •*• -»• • > ^^ -» •*••*•
214
OUJl FAMILIAR SONGS.
Creep - ing where grim death has been, A rare old plant is the I - vy green.
Creep - ing where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the I - vy green.
8va.
I *— t
-U 1. — 1 0 — F-
/l * *
—= rz^t=3r:q-l — ^— T — r~g^f= 4
l*r •*••*•* Tf •*•*••*•*
=^B^
Creep - ing whjere no life is seen, A rare old plant is the I - vy green,
8va loco. 8va .
"
— N-
-Ji£t=jl§t=3=<E£^ '^.
r
// dot.
Creep - ing,
E
ft
1
creep - ing,
creep - ing where no
3= =5~ 3=
4=£==g=3 r=j=i^==^:
- -i — i ix « ,/ 1— 4! — ^ ,>.
i J z
w v
life is seen,
8va...
Creep - ing,
Creep - ing,
^=?
1
* » •*• •* •* -f
r=i
THE IVY GREEN.
215
rare old plant is the I - vy green.
feg^^^^=pj==^^|-=p?^^^-
U^^^^ M/ •*••£•-=• •-*
TYROLESE EVENING HYMN.
FELICIA DOKOTHEA BROWNE was born in Liverpool, England, September 21, 1794. Her
early days were passed amid the beautiful scenery of north Wales, which fostered her
imaginative nature. When eighteen years old, she married Captain Hemans, who had -but
lately returned, with shattered health, from the hard-fought fields of Spain, and the fever-
stricken ranks of the Walcheren Expedition. Six years later, he left her with a family of
five little boys, and went to reside in Italy. They never met again.
Mrs. Hemans was beautiful, with a fine and graceful form, blue eyes, and a profusion
of auburn hair. It was on her portrait, painted by our countryman, Benjamin West, that
she composed the poem which closes with the lines :
" Yet, look thou still serenely on,
And if sweet friends there be,
That when my song and soul are gone
Shall seek my form in thee,
Tell them of one for whom 'twas best
To flee away and be at rest."
The sister who set many of Mrs. Hemans's words to music was twice married. Her
name was Hughes at the time she wrote the biography of the poetess.
i / 5 u. S) 0 f
F^^T^
1 fi — Rn
-f — f— — fe-
r~^ — Is — f* — M
p 4 1 E
1. Come, come,
* D.C. Come, come,
22 1 i • * ' * '
come, Come to the
come, Come to the
I
4 — E ^ • ^
sun - set tree; The
sun - set tree; The
-4. » • *
day is past and
day is past and
dfo 4 J — *-
J | 1
i &— ri
— J J '5 — • — R-
-S--T. — f — R-T
2. Come, come,
3. Corae, come,
9% ft % J p-i
come, Sweet is the
come, Yes, 'tis the
—*—\ — , |x— r
— j—> r~^ — ' v1 • ^ —
hour of rest, Pleas -ant the wood's low
tune - ful sount!, That dwells in whis-p'ring
3. Come, come,
r i J. — *-±-
come, There shall no
' ^ J. ^ $ ' ^
tern - pests blow, No scorch - ing noon - tide
Iftf-f f=
i / >
f f. f -$
L^ d <A ^_
OUR FAMILIAR SONG*.
r* fi -i— . j (x -f^-h= — 'EEES:--^ k-
gone; The wood -man's axe lies free, And
gone; The wood -man's axe lies free, (Omit.
the reap - er's work is done.
;
sigh, And the gleam- ing of the west. And
boughs, Wei - come the fresh - ness round. And
JH-j -g=. —^ --^J- J .
the turf where - on we lie;
the gale that fans our brows;
^H-^ h h N! i -1
beat; There shall be no more snow, No wea - ry, wan - d'ring feet;
.
— I — 1 — -f -f • — — i — i
l^i — C— LV — £ — v — t— L-i *—
Fine.
And the reap - er's work is done. The
. . — 1 1
twi - light star to heav'n, And the
When the bur - then and the heat Of
But rest more sweet and still Than
l*tt • ft -t =^^^I-^^^=E=£==£==I= -r— -JH
^»H * — g K "ft [/ If 1 |- J
So we
l^at, g ft — « ft 1 N- , . \ ,-
m m m m. m • - i
lift our trust - ing eyes, From the
— ts K [V N 1 N *-
PK g g -i* — * * J. r i c
Pf=p=^~ ,. ft -j ^ j j
-±-. — J^-J . — J A-. — IE
D.C.
- m m • m^ * m m m &
* ' ' r — p-^— £ — * • • • •
sum-mer dew to flow'rs, And rest to us is
given. By the cool, soft eve-ning hours;
!}r LU r ».
l\ L
-4 — fc — p — f K 1 & K -fc — K K-
1 N \ ^ J ^ ^
—. i d •* -.-. 9 \ . J> J d-
'in * m
la-bor's task are o'er, And kind - ly voi-ces greet The tired one at his door:
ev - er night-fall gave, Our yearn - irig hearts shall fill In the world be-yond the grave :
$ r * $ ^ J m^~ J*1 J^ J** j*
-fr-ft |Tl "ft— ft~
K — h — — ^^ ' — m — - — m- — m — ^ —
-m m* f —y V \T~
hills our fa-thers trod, To the qui - et of the skies, To the Sab- bath of our God;
/ •k.u 1 — T 1 1 N N-i — > x m 1 ri
^% N— m p r- — ts N N ^ fv
~i m' f ' r P F 11
!=E±aE: bib — J — J . >T J m
:~ ^— U U ^ J .!
SONGS OF SENTIMENT,
Whate'er the senses take or may refuse,
The mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews
Of inspiration on the humblest lay.
— William Wordsworth.
By the waters of life we sat together,
Hand in hand, in the golden days
Of the beautiful early summer weather,
When hours were anthems, and speech was praise.
— Richard Real/.
And never seemed the land so fair
As now, nor birds such notes to shu;,
Since first within your shining hair
1 wove the blossoms of the spring.
— Edmund Clarence Stedma*.
I played a soft and doleful air;
I sang an old and moving story —
An old rude song, that suited well
That ruin wild and hoary.
— Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
SONGS OF SENTIMENT,
THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER.
THIS is one of the most exquisite, as well as one of the most widely popular of the
songs which MOORE wrote for old airs, and published under the general title of " Irish Mel-
odies." Its air is altered from an old one called "The Groves of Blarney."
Rev. Charles Wolfe, author of the " Burial of Sir John Moore," who had a passionate
fondness for the Irish national melodies, especially admired " The Last Rose of Summer,"
and wrote the following little story as an introduction to it.
This is the grave of Dermid. He was the best minstrel among us all, — a youth of ro-
mantic genius and of the most tremulous and yet the most impetuous feeling. He knew all
our old national airs, of every character and description. According as his song was in a
lofty or a mournful strain, the village represented a camp or a funeral ; but if Dermid were
in his merry mood, the lads and lasses were hurried into dance with a giddy and irresist-
ible gaiety.
One day, our chieftain committed a cruel and wanton outrage against one of our
peaceful villagers. Dermid's harp was in his hand when he heard it. With all the
thoughtlessness and independent sensibility of a poet's indignation, he struck the chords
that never spoke without response, and the detestation became universal. He was driven
from amongst us by our enraged chief; and all his relations, and the maid he loved,
attended our banished minstrel into the wide world.
For three years there were no tidings of Dermid, and the song and dance were silent, —
when one of our little boys came running in, and told us that he saw Dermid approaching
at a distance. Instantly the whole village was in commotion ; the youths and maidens
assembled on the green, and agreed to celebrate the arrival of their poet with a dance ;
they fixed upon the air he was to play for them, — it was the merriest of his collection.
• The ring was formed; all looked eagerly toward the quarter from which he was to
arrive, determined to greet their favorite bard with a cheer. But they were checked the
instant he appeared. He came slowly, and languidly, and loiteringly along ; his counte-
nance had a cold, dim, and careless aspect, very different from that expressive tearful-
ness which marked his features, even in his more melancholy moments. His harp was
swinging heavily upon his arm ; it seemed a burden to him ; it was much shattered, and
some of the strings were broken. He looked at us for a few moments ; then, relapsing
into vacancy, advanced, without quickening his pace, to his accustomed stone, and sat
down in silence. After a pause, we ventured to ask him for his friends. He first looked
up sharply in our faces, next down upon his harp, then struck a few notes of a wild and
desponding melody, which we had never heard before ; but his hand dropped, and he did
not finish it. Again we paused. Then, knowing well that if we could give the smallest
mirthful impulse to his feelings, his whole soul would soon follow, we asked him for the
merry air we had chosen.
220
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
We were surprised at the readiness with which he seemed to comply ; but it was the
same wild and heart-breaking strain he had commenced. In fact, we found that the soul
of the minstrel had become an entire void, except one solitary ray, that vibrated slug-
gishly through its very darkest part. It was like the sea in a dark calm, which you only
know to be in motion by the panting which you hear. He had totally forgotten every
trace of his former strains, not only those that were more gay and airy, but even those of
a more pensive cast; and he had got in their stead that one dreary, single melody. It
was about a lonely rose that had outlived all his companions. This he continued singing
and playing from day to day, until he spread an unusual gloom over the whole village. He
seemed to perceive it, for he retired to the churchyard, and remained singing it there to
the day of his death. The afflicted constantly repaired to hear it, and he died singing it to
a maid who had lost her lover. The orphans have learned it, and still chant it over
poor Dermid's grave.
y "ft ttfl is j
f *ni — ^^ ^r — r l^fc
1. 'Tis the last
2. Fll not leave
3, So soon
Jf ft ft t J s»
'"[/ — J-- — J=-3- ^ r * * J.$
rose of sum - mer, Left bloom - ing a - -
thee, thou lone one, To pine on the
may I fol - low When friend - ships de - -
n\ * Y ZZfiH " ~ £J~
— j^-U — = \i 4 — '
, a E
j?*/t | - h=-N-
J U |j +=
Kb j '• ESE '^ i • — 4—. — \ . ? \ j^<~ * 0 *" ^ • 3 — '
- lone; All her love - Ly com - pan - ions Are fa - ded and
stem; Since the love - ly are sleep -ing, Go, sleep thou with
- cay, And from Love's shin - ing cir - cle The gems drop a -
} i Jl
-<2 1 ^ , -^ J —
^ ^ ^
I <*)3I %*.
i ' 1 I'd
1 ETft S — P r—
_^_ _^_
*
w & *
-J- -*- -*-
q> * • J -j ^f f ^* * J — ^JL-^— 1 — ^f-
gone ; No
them. Thus
- way I When
flow'r of her kin - dred, No rose - bud is
kind - ly I scat - ter Thy leaves o'er the
true hearts lie with - er'd, And fond ones are
]?:•*• "*"
—* : g — • iL- — i
-*• -& -+ -i9- -*r
— « — • — — /^ — — r~
^ ^ it S |" — — i p
=F -T — ^ ^=J
THE LAST HOSE OF SUMMER.
To re - fleet back her
Where thy mates of the
Oh ! .... who would in
blush - es, Or give sigh
gar - den Lie scent - less
hab - it This bleak world
i
i
i
i
'Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone ;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone ;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh !
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one !
To pine on the stem ;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them ;
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o'er the bed
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.
So soon may / follow,
When friendships decay,
And from love's shining circle
The gems drop away !
When true hearts lie withered,
And fond ones are flown,
Oh, who would inhabit
This bleak world alone ?
I'D BE A BUTTERFLY.
THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY and his bride were visiting Lord Ashtown, when, on
going to the drawing-room after dinner, one day, the gentlemen found it deserted, and Mr.
Bayly went to the garden in pursuit of the ladies. Seeing him,, they playfully hid them-
selves in the winding avenues. He followed floating laughs and laces a while, and then sat
down in a tempting arbor. When the ladies joined him, he showed them the manuscript
of " I'd be a Butterfly," that moment written. Mrs. Bayly composed an air, and it was
sung that evening to a large party assembled in their honor. When the song was after-
ward published in a little volume called " The Loves of the Butterflies," dedicated to their
host, Lord Ashtown wrote the following reply :
The butterfly, in days of old,
Was emblem of the soul we're told ;
This type to you may well belong—
Your butterfly's the soul of song.
Yet why to me address the tale
Of loves that flutter in the gale ;
Of spring, or summer's genial ray, —
To me, who hasten to decay ?
Why not address the sportive song
To Helen, beautiful and young ?
She well may claim a minstrel's skill ;
Although a wife, a mistress still.
Yet such the magic of your strain,
Methinks I live and love again ;
Your voice recalls the pleasing theme
Of hope, and joy, and " Love's young dream."
born in
pPjr I J ^' «y '
"*, • I * g * ' »| a( aj"
bow'r, Where ro - ses and lil - ies, and
* H -K
^EEf
=1=
^EE
'Z-~ — m — ~~f — "L 1
. •» . » ~ * '(j * .
i T rp T !/ T ^ ^^^
222
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
;zf :Et~ — f- — f_ — » — -
1> — 3>~
vi - o - lets meet;
Rov - ing for - ev - er from flow - er to flow -er, aiid
* ¥
-0 P-
kiss-ing all buds that are pret - ty and sweet.
I'd nev - er Ian - guish for
^pE^E^E^^^^^^ti ^=^^E^iz=piE£^i
—
*
— — fr—
— =fc= =*
lentando.
|
••j •• _j — > 4— | — : — £~i~| I — fei
wealth or for pow-er,
I'd nev - er sigh to see slaves at my feet ;
: i ~ -i : ; . -~\~-\ ^ z?*czn±zi: _4 q
T^l — - - g ..TzjrgzT^.j .i j ' n~ ^: _^ g« : M i
n=S— -i — g^^gzi^E^z-zig—z-^r^EgE; £=E|=g» — j=3 *
-» -» •* -* •» -*• + -0-
— »— =1= — i— ^T-^ — > '-A - 1 =T-» f 4 » — ^
=g= j-* — ^ — =|3 — » — =t- — - * 1=
••• « -l-_! 1
._T~_-p p --fr*^ J
4^z=— j-— *—-—*—
— 0— i — j^ grv~j
I'd be a but - ter - fly, born in a bow'r, And kiss -ing all buds that are
•N-
— -— — i — i-I— e — ; V.D
^ EE|^EE|EjEE|^^=Epl±E^ EE§EEE|E EE^d
— IX-
-<i— 0-
pret-ty and sweet,
Fd" be a but -ter -fly, I'd be a but - ter -fly,
8va...
aps
E
Jg^l^=gj^PE^3EEfe=R±EEl
I'D BE A BUTTERFLY.
223
==*»:rp :fcj
. — F -- 1 — , --- j • — _ — _ — ,
_ — _
~
kiss-ing all buds that are pretty and sweet.
Oh, could I pilfer the wand of a fairy,
I'd have a pair of those beautiful wings ;
Their summer day's ramble is sportive and airy,
They sleep in a rose when the nightingale sings.
Those who have wealth must be watchful and wary,
Power, alas ! naught but misery brings ;
I'd be a butterfly, sportive and airy,
Rocked in a rose when the nightingale sings.
What though you tell me each gay little rover,
Shrinks from the breath of the first autumn day;
Surely, 'tis better when summer is over,
To die, when all fair things are fading away.
Some in life's winter may toil to discover
Means of procuring a weary delay :
I'd be a butterfly, living a rover,
Dying when fair things are fading away.
Mr. Bayly afterwards made a little parody on his own song, which he entitled, " FD BE
A PARODY."
I'd be a parody, made by a ninny,
On some little song with a popular tune,
Not worth a halfpenny, sold for a guinea,
And sung in the Strand by the light of the moon.
Pd never sigh for the sense of a Pliny,
(Who cares for sense at St. James's in June ?)
Pd be a parody, made by a ninny,
And sung in the Strand by the light of the moon.
Oh, could I pick up a thought or a stanza,
I'd take a flight on another bard's wings,
Turning his rhymes into extravaganza,
Laugh at his harp, and then pilfer its strings I
When a poll-parrot can croak the cadenza
A nightingale loves, he supposes he sings !
Oh, never mind, I will pick up a stanza.
Laugh at his harp, and then pilfer its strings !
What though they tell me each metrical puppy,
Can make of such parodies two pair a day,
Mocking-birds think they obtain by each copy
Paradise plumes for the parodied iay.
Ladder of fame ! if man can't reach the top, he
Is right to sing just as high up as he may ;
I'd be a parody made by a puppy,
Who makes of such parodies two pair a day.
THOSE EVENING BELLS.
THOMAS MOORE is the author of this song, which is one of the " National Melodies."
The air to which he arranged the words is called " The Bells of St. Petersburg."
iSL'b 2 I* t
r \ M s
-4 -N i » 1
1. Those ev'n - ing bells,
2. Those joy - ous hours
3. And so 'twill be
those ev'n - ing bells, How
are past a - way, And
when I am gone,
4 — 1_- u — c —
— t — t — ^ — i
ma - ny a
ma - 11 v a
That tune - ful
•• i i "* r i 1
~l^ *' 1
E^SEE:: —r-
T — * 1
: j • j * | • • t i . . 0
* - '
JZ~ +
• •*• ->• -0- — (• •*
-*1-
f\' 2 r *y \ *y
j jj, r ,j>
i '
2_£-^=5_4=p_ — i-£—
— 4-+^^ — g
-\—&-
224
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
tale--., their mu
heart,.... that then
... will still
sic
was
ring
tells, Of youth
gay,.... With - in....
on, While oth
and
the
• er
home
tomb
bards
and that sweet
now dark - ly
shall walk these
time, When last
dwells, And hears
dells, And sing
I heard
no more
your praise,
their sooth
those ev'n
sweet ev'n
- ing
• ing
- ing
chime !
bells!
bells!
Of youth and
With - "in the
While oth - er
m
home and that sweet time, When last I heard
tomb now dark - ly dwells, And hears no more
bards shall walk these dells, And sing your praise,
their sooth - ing chime!
those ev'n - ing bells!
sweet ev'n - ing bells!
LET ERIN REMEMBER.
THOMAS MOORE, in this song, refers to an old historical fact, and an old tradition of his
country. Malachi was King of Ireland, in the tenth century. In a battle with the Danes,
he successively defeated two champions, in a hand-to-hand encounter, and took from one
his sword, from the other his collar of gold. The second stanza refers to a fisherman's
tradition, that when the water of Lough Neagh was clear, they could see in its depths the
spires of towns that had once stood upon its hanks. The air is called '" The Red Fox."
LET ERIN JSEMEMBER THE DAYS' OF OLD.
K — | h K-T--J * »r-r-
225
1. Let E - rin remem - ber the days of old, Ere her faith - less sons be -
2. On Lough Neagh's bank, as the fisherman strays, When the clear, cold eve's de -
5=t=j^=*= ^=:=i==fa=:=jzf^
•*-* ': -43. 1-
-V-t
.
— N 3s ^ -^-4—* * . .
.. __n... H> _->
$&-^
j L
—4 ^ j 0 — — 0 —
— . — «L— 1
«/ _^. i/ i/
- trayed her; When Ma - la - chi wore the col -lar of gold,
- cli - ning, He sees the round tow - ers of oth - er days
Which he
In the
w
I ,
n
M rl
1
I
^n ~*
J ^ rr
T J ! i 1 j | — j
|
F * *
T T 77 $ 5 *
J 1 ~i
^
t^-j — i
|
w ^ r f
I
2^ — 4 €.
— u— — 31 , — a — — « —
-*-
won from her proud in - va
wave be - neath him shin
der; When her kings, with stan - dard of
ing; Thus shall mem - 'ry oft - en, in
- J J I 4*
^i=z*=z5i==i^=it
_^( m _i « 4 3^_
- if * - *
green un - f url'd, Led the Red - Branch knights to dan - ger ;— Ere the
dreams sub - lime, Catch a glimpse of the days that are o - ver; Thus
Btr-f p_,_L=n— =
226
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
-O*
>!!_„_->_
jrT"--T-» ^—v
z=£
-~_ *
7~V
em - 'raid gem of the west - era world Was set in the crown of a stran - ger.
sighlng,look thro' the waves of time, For the long fa - ded glo - ries they cov - er.
4-
DAYS OF ABSENCE.
THE melody, and probably the words of the thrice-familiar song which follows, were
written by JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU, the celebrated French author, in 1775. He was born
in Geneva, June 28, 1712, and was descended from a family of Paris booksellers and Pro-
testant refugees. His mother, the daughter of a clergyman, died when he was born, and
his grief that he should have met so bitter a loss was often referred to by him. Although
he was a very delicate boy, before he was nine years old, he had spent whole nights in
reading novels with his father, who had a visionary and restless disposition. From an
engineer, a lawyer, and an engraver, with whom he lived successively, he picked up a
varied fund of information. After a series of adventures of the most romantic and miser-
able sort, he devoted himself to the study of music, which he afterward taught, and
invented a new system of musical notation. He published several operas and musical
works, before he turned his whole attention to the writings for which he is chiefly known.
Rousseau died at Ermonville, near Paris, July 2, 1778. His melody has now been so long
associated in our minds with its hymn-book title of "Greenville," that it seems odd
to connect it with this French love song. In Europe it is called " Rousseau's Dream."
Fine.
m
[Days of ab- sence, sad and drear - y, Cloth'd in sor- row's dark ar - ray; )
I Days of ab - sence, I am wea - ry, She I love is far a - way. f
When the hea - vy sigh be ban-isli'd; When this bos - om cease to mourn?
&£
*-3£
fct
^
SEES
DC.
£^r
Hours of bliss, too quick- ly van-ishM, When will aught like you re - turn;
m
3= J J
i 1 i F-
h I I l =
Not till that loved voice can greet me,
Which so oft has charmed mine ear,
Not till those sweet eyes can meet me,
Telling that I still am dear:
Days of absence then will vanish,
Joy will all my pangs repay;
Soon my bosom's idol banish
Gloom, but felt when she's awav. •
All my love is turned to sadness,
Absence pays the tender vow,
Hopes that filled the heart with gladnes
Memory turns to anguish now;
Love may yet return to greet me,
Hope may take the place of pain;
Antoinette with kisses meet me,
Breathing love and peace again.
EEIN! THE TEAR.
227
ERIN, THE TEAR.
THE following song of THOMAS MOORE'S is one of the many which SIR JOHN ANDREW
STEVENSON arranged to old Irish airs. Stevenson was born in 1761, in Dublin, Ireland,
where his father was a professor of music. When ten years old, he was received into the
choir school of Christ Church, where he soon gave promise of the fine abilities that after-
ward distinguished him. He was made choral- vicar of Dublin Cathedral, and was knighted.
He produced an oratorio entitled "The Thanksgiving," and anthems and glees that are still
popular. He died, September 14, 1833. The air to which "Erin! the Tear" is sung is.
" Aileen Aroon," which is the true old Irish form of the beautiful " Kobin Adair."
ffi?
— A — E
=5=1
— J
==^
SHE
*-§- jp
I ! j \
0 m
-* i
J
0
E
E
\
- rin, the tear and the smile in thine
- rin, thy si - lent tear nev - er shall
eyes
cease;
fi-f
? _f
_|_
— P? ^5 —
z::
-1 — ~ ^— 1
If-
-^
?-3 —
pfir^firff^p
nHnr^ffi£J^J
i i =q
p^
hj 1
F£
4. d
— :
— <9 — :
1
• m
— ] —
=i= =t=
®r — •>-
-^u-
•
-f
i — 1
-* --1-
-S^^ J
Blend like the rain - bow that hangs in thy
E - rin! thy Ian - guid smile ne'er shall in
skies !
crease,
if
r-fH
•» —
1 — IK — : E 1
|
!
~~f ^~
. — f— j
-^
? f_M
f
ZJ==
-J J
Shin -
Till,
-0-rb
ing thro'
like the
p*^*^~*^—
sor - row's stream,
rain - bow's light,
— 5j- 1-
1 |
Sad - d'ning thro'
Thy va - rious
-i 1 i hJ * . «!
pleas -
tints
* W -1
ure's beam,
u - nite,
— t —
&
1
-.*.-.
f - * "—I
^0-
f-—
J
fc*— H -
, i — i
Pp— J
!C|
1
-f — [
— ' — ;
228
OL'h' FAMILIAR SONGX.
mm
—^^
Thy suns with doubt - ful gleam Weep while they rise!
And form in Hta - en's sight One arch of peace I
B
m
O SAY NOT THAT MY HEART IS COLD!
WHEN CHARLES WOLFE had written this song, and was arranging it to the exquisite
old Irish melody called " Grammachree," his feelings so overpowered him, that to give then?
expression he immediately wrote the well-known poem, "To Mary," which begins—
" If I had thought thou could'st have died,
I might not weep for thee ;
But I forgot, when by thy side
That thou could'st mortal be."
IE? 1 * R f~ ~~l — *~~
N .. ^
1. O say not that my heart is cold To aught that once could warm it— That
2. Still oft those sol - emn scenes I view In wrapt and dream - v sad-ness — Oft
3. Stern Du - ty rose, and. frown - ing, flung His lead- en chain "a- round me ; With
/ XL j k / » M f~- i d — ! — « J si — — i — — = —
^''nl|: M £ 1 1 "\j=
gJ-ifr /*i||« j- 1 1 E
— ^ J—
* £_
ff E_
_^_^z
— j^_i
-^^H
^M^^M-T- =f= J J _
&*-) V 4— '•• ? — f a — —m —
^[) : — ^ * V * s — ~j P — — f —
\f — ^ »^ — — ^ U1 —
Na - ture's form, so dear of old, No more has p
look on those who loved them too, With fan - cy's
i - ron look and sul - len tongue, He mut - ter'd
_«_=£zf=
ix I/
ower to charm it ;
i - die gladness
as he bound me,
Or
A-
-•• The
™T~l
r J » r
^d
^^ i? r ' — ***•**-
— •• i L-^-
taJ —
O SA Y NOT THAT MY HEART IS COLD!
229
JOB
xL-b-H
•> 1 5 K- y 1-; P ^ 1> 1
^^ — J^-E^I r ^ r
*tfr^
V
^ p ' — I
that th'un-gen - erous world can chill One gk
-gain I longed to view the light In K
mount - ain breeze, the bound - less heav'n, Un - f
>w of fond e - mo-tion, For
a - ture's feat - ures glow-ing, A-
t for toil the creature; These
j J I 1 J „ \
Ll_
C-J* — r (Lr~L^f-^-i
^ ^ \ ' ? *
, — _j__ : — 9 4
— , p. — , — r- j-t
» m • "t" < — m — i
j^^F
~^—
r r r — K
r/ . .
& * A A 0
I K •> S 1 1
^^ rl L
» U 1* 9 f ' U \ P
J i f^ K IS 1
(0)
J J J^ i II
* 9 • . J 1 1
-i
those who made it dear - er still, And
-gain to tread the mount - ain's height, And
for the free a - lone are given — But
shared my wild de - vo - tion.
taste the soul's o'er - flow - ing.
what have slaves with iia- ture!"
A k
r"""11"""""' r**\ - h
y ,
* A J t ~ \9 J
II
/L b ^
> 9 m 9 f
1 II
[TV -
1* » *
* 1!
^!y
« * r 2
2 1 J • i§
^
T^ 51
•
/•V •_
•1 » A
r r it • II
PA !?
» * P
r • II
r r --^. i/
1 m 1 II
TWILIGHT DEWS.
BOTH the words and the music of this song, which has long been a favorite serenade,
were written by THOMAS MOORE.
A tt
i •( i
ri
V EL
J N. \
n
k. ^ r
* i
/k F" ^
-1 J 1 ' ^ J
j j
J aZ~35 H3
v pi
frn x
f € J * ' M
m *m
* • i M
J«<
^L> 9E p|
9-9 9 • 9, 9 '
i i
• • f J i
j * .
^/
1. When
2. There's
^
9
twi - light dews are fall - ing
not a gar - den walk I
-«- •»- -0-
9—^ 9-i — *— ! —
r
fast, Up -
take, There's
-9- -*•
* -1*
on the ro - sy
not a flower I
4- — 9 9 +—
e •>
lea, I
see, But
uf ^j
j^^*f-- J
-\ P P
T — r — r~~^ — r~~
-1 \—f — u
=tf « M
I J J 1 IS
^ i r 1*
i N T
_i_l _ — i 1
j^ 4ri^
* J r -
1 I M
h. 4
1i
xT J
-J — — J— L-* M • — 4 —
~m *
--iH N-^— J-
— i — s— 1
^j>-^ — 9
' 9 *\ 0 . 9—
~* *—
--•H — « — ^=*-
— i — ** i
watch 1
brings
r
hat star whose beam so
to mind some hope that's
^ n ^. ^
— f — * — r~^~ — i* —
1
oft Has
fled, Some
-9- -9-
1 r-
light - ed me
joy I've lost
N
i f: y ?.
and thee.
with thee 5
•—•- — F— r i
J L —
i* •
230
OUli FAMILIAR SONGS.
i.,.1 thnni too on that orb so dear, Ah! dost thou gaze at oven, And
And still' I ' w°sh that hour was near, When, friends and foes for- given, The
rfMfc
H —
^ * J 1
J .
i 33fE
-
E5 *~tt
Sh
3 — -i — * — -4^-
think, tlio' lost for -
pains, the ills we've
Lf f f e -i
ev - er he
wept thro* he
re, Thou'lt
re, May
» .«-
IT
V
til
M 1 %»?» f-
fit be mine in
rn to smiles in
ft. .
J " II
3
heav'n?
heav'n.
H
H^=E
— F —
9— 0
» — r —
"~"~~c — r^ — L
" II
STARS OF THE SUMMER NIGHT.
THESE peculiarly melodious words are from LONGFELLOW'S " Spanish Student," and
the air which suits them so finely, was written by ALFRED H. PEASE, one of the most suc-
cessful of our American composers. He was born in Cleveland, Ohio, about 1838, and
•when very young, manifested great love for music, and considerable power of producing it.
Before he was six years old, he could play melodies upon the piano, with accuracy, impro-
vising unique variations. Yet his friends were so opposed to his becoming a professional
musician, that he was educated without reference to this inch' nation. At the age of
eighteen he left college, and went to Europe for his health. His studies were completed
in Germany, in whose musical atmosphere his ruling passion became so strong, that the
consent of his parents was finally obtained, and he devoted himself to music under the
most eminent masters. He composed the music of more than eighty songs, but is best
known as a writer of opera and orchestral music, and as an accomplished pianist. He
long resided in New York City, and died in St. Louis, July 13, 1882.
Allegretto.
By special permission of George Schirmer, publisher.
of the sum - mer night !
in yon a - zure deeps,
STABS OF THE HUMMER NIGHT.
P
231
in '
-tsr
Hide, hide your gold - en light! She sleeps! my la - dy sleeps!
zzzzqzzzz 1 =1=4 zEzzz=zzz iz
zzzzlEg^E
Siz^zzrfz:gzzzi^zzizzzziiW=izzzzr»zi»zzzz:iz
3?ikIff?:fck2?— 5— ^-z~±— -i— y— P-1— '— ?H 31— 9— 4-
Moon
— ^ — — J— 4— ^— — ~zzzzzzzl zz5zz: z~* — ?r :'
of the sum - mer night! Far down yon
-» •-• 0 0 ' « 0-
•*•-*• •» •* •» •*
;zr^E: JzrizqFi^lz^
:^
west - tern steeps, Sink, sink in sil - ver light ! She sleeps !
my
«_J 1 •* " ] y !
T i^i. .
"* * ••» -»•»-»-*-» * » T
\ - ^~gj^ - 11 - g Jil"^ --- H - =— • I -- • — - jj — p—
dy sleeps ! sleeps ! sleeps I
I
la -
* I** ^* .A
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
Winds of the sum - mor night! Where yon - der
dj* f- *- £-£•_ -f- f-
w=rT»T^^^5^E£^^^3^^^feE
— _ J-- • • — — -M— i —
****„**., ** -- — ^
•*••••
^
^ r-=^ ~ ^^^^ =^» ^^
EEE^^^SE
rrx^> ~s— h- — a^
s^^^^^;=^3
wood - bine creeps, Fold. fold your pin - ions light ! She sleeps !
•^•:~; j=F==E=j
2=F=?^=P
—
=iia— g=g==** rz|= =*= ==:===-
* *^ *• *• " ^'-J ^^ — * •*
LJ — ..
£=F±
Dreams of the sum - mer night! Tell her, her lov - er keeps
~ '-
Watch, while in slum - bers light She sleeps!
cres.
ia!=^= :=ipz*:
55 55
STARS OF THE 8U}tMBS NIGHT.
233
irtezz+jzi^r- r*=«=i=ih
ET^=f
Stars of the summer night !
Far in your azure deeps,
Hide, hide your golden light!
She sleeps!
My lady sleeps !
Sleeps !
Moon of the summer night!
Far down yon western steeps,
Sink, sink in silver light!
She sleeps !
My lady sleeps !
Sleeps !
Wind of the summer night!
Where yonder woodbine creeps,
Fold, fold thy pinions light!
She sleeps !
My lady sleeps !
Sleeps !
Dreams of the summer night !
Tell her, her lover keeps
Watch, while in slumbers light
She sleeps !
My lady sleeps !
Sleeps !
MY LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE.
EICHARD HENKT WILDE, author of " My Life is like the Summer Kose," was born in
Dublin, Ireland, September 24, 1789. Just after his birth, the family came to this country,
und suffered the total loss of a considerable fortune. Mr. Wilde died, and his widow
opened a milliner's store in Augusta, Georgia. Her little son, Eichard Henry, was her
clerk by day, and her pupil at night. He studied with delight, and rapidly developed
remarkable powers. Italian literature gave him peculiar pleasure, and after serving two
terms in Congress, he went to Italy, where he discovered valuable documents which threw
light upon the life and times of Dante. He also learned that there was upon the wall of
the chapel of Barghello, a painting by Giotto, and, finally, obtained money and permission
to investigate. The whitewash had been carefully removed from two sides without result,
but upon the third the painting was discovered. Wilde returned to this country, practiced
law very successfully in New Orleans, and held the professorship of common law in the
University of Louisiana. He died in New Orleans, September 10, 1846.
The following lyric was the subject of a long literary debate. The North American
Review made a bold charge of plagiarism, because a Greek ode had come to light, purport
ing to have been written by Alcseus, which contained the ideas expressed in Mr. Wilde's
poem. The same article said that an almost verbatim copy of the English version had
been published as originating with O'Kelly, author of the " Curse of Doneraile." The
reviewer supposed both to have been translated from the Greek ode. The charge became
so serious and wide-spread, that Mr. Wilde wrote to the gentleman who, he understood, had
translated his song into Greek, and received in reply from Mr. Anthony Barclay, for many-
years a resident of Savannah, the following statements :
234 OUR FAMILIAL' >OAV,.s.
•' I was not apprised, when I addressed you on the 9th inst., nor for some days after,
that my prose translation into Greek, of your beautiful ode, beginning—
' My life is like tlie summer rose'
had been published. It was written for individual amusement with exclusively half a
dozen acquaintance in Savannah, and without the slightest intention of its going farther.
This assertion will account for the abundant defects, and they will vouch for its truth."
In a letter dated from New Orleans, February 14, 1846, and addressed to a lady in New
York, Mr. Wilde explains the origin of the song. I am indebted to the lady's daughter,
Mrs. Loyall Farragut, for the kind permission to copy it.
"Since you have requested it, to whom I should be ashamed to deny anything of much
more consequence, I send you the lines inclosed; premising, to forestall the suspicion of
vanity — that vice which so easily besets all men, especially the irritable genus — that
my estimate of their value is very different from yours. They were written very long
ago, before I had forsworn rhyming, though not before I was aware how little it
contributes to one's success in life, or rather, how often it impairs one's usefulness and
reputation.
" These stanzas were originally designed as part of a longer poem, which, like the
life of him for whose sake I projected it, was broken off unfinished, and are far from
containing, however the contrary may have been supposed, any allusion to myself. They
were suggested by the story of Juan Ortez's captivity among the Indians — the last sur-
vivor of Panfilo de Narvaez's ill-fated expedition, as the locality of Tampa will evince ; bur
finding their way to the press without my consent, and much to my annoyance, even the
place was changed to Tempe, and the scene thus transferred, not without a blunder, from
the sea-coast of Florida to the interior of Greece.
" I never could account for the interest the public has taken in this fragment, except
from the circumstance that, after having long circulated unclaimed and unacknowledged,
it all at once found almost as many to confess to its paternity as the ' Child of Thirty-six
Fathers !' Besides its putative parents, Alcaeus and O'Kelly, Captain Basil Hall has been
kind enough to find a mother for it in the person of the Countess Purgstall — see his
'Schloss Hainfelt,' — which remains to this moment uncontradicted ; for who would forfeit
their reputation for gallantry, by robbing a dead lady's grave of one sprig of bay ?"
To the autograph copy of the verses which accompanies the letter, Mr. Wilde affixes
the date, 1815.
In a letter from Mr. Wilde to the New York Mirror, of February 28, 1835, are the fol-
lowing additional particulars : " My brother, the late James Wilde, was an officer of th&
United States, and held a subaltern rank in the expedition of Colonel John Williams against
the Semiuole Indians, of Florida, which first broke up their towns and stopped their atroci-
ties. When James returned, he amused my brother, my sisters, and myself, with descrip-
tions of the orange groves and transparent lakes, the beauty of the St. John's river, and of
the woods and swamps of Florida,— a kind of fairyland, of which we then knew little,
except from Bartram's ecstasies— interspersed with anecdotes of his campaign and com-
panions. I used to laugh, and tell him I'd immortalize his exploits in an epic. Some
stanzas were accordingly written, for the amusement of the family at our meeting. That,
alas ! was destined never to take place. He was killed in a duel. * His violent and melan-
choly death put an end to my poem ; the third stanza of the first fragment, which alludes-
to his fate, being all that was written afterward :
JftT LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER HOSE. 236
' I, too, had once a brother; he was there
Among the foremost, bravest of the brave ;
To him this lay was framed with fruitless care ;
Sisters for him the sigh in secret gave ;
For him a mother poured the fervent prayer.
But sigh or prayer availeth not to save
A generous victim in a villain's snare :
He found a bloody but inglorious grave,
And never nobler heart was racked by baser glaive.'
The verses,, particularly the ' Lament of the Captive/ [the other title for this lyric], were
read by the family and some intimate acquaintances ; among the rest, the present Secretary
of State, and a gentleman, then a student of medicine, now a distinguished physician in
Philadelphia. The latter after much importunity procured from me, for a lady in that
city, a copy of 'My life is like the summer rose/ with an injunction against publicity, —
which the lady herself did not violate ; but a musical composer to whom she gave the
words for the purpose of setting them, did, and they appeared, I think, first in 1815 or
1816, with my name and addition at full length, to my no small annoyance. Still, I never
avowed them ; and though continually republished in the newspapers with my name, and a
poetical reply, I maintained that newspapers were no authority, and refused to answer
further." Mr. Wilde also points to the fact that the description of the " rose" applies to a
species of Florida rose, which " opens, fades, and perishes during the summer in less than
twelve hours."
The music was composed by CHARLES THIBAULT.
My life is like.... the summer rose,.... That- o -pens to the morn - ing
236
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
bed, The sweetest dews of night are shed, As if she wept the waste to
see, But none shall weep a tear for me 1 .... But none shall weep a tear for me I
i r T r r r __L— -^ >— * * * *
— «•-+-*-
My life is like the summer rose,
That opens to the morning sky,
But ere the shades of evening close,
Is scattered on the ground to die :
Yet on the rose's humble bed
The sweetest dews of night are shed,
As if she wept the waste to see,
But none shall weep a tear for me !
My life is like the autumn leaf,
That trembles in the moon's pale ray ;
Its hold is frail — its date is brief,
Restless — and soon to pass away!
Yet ere that leaf shall fall and fade,
The parent tree will mourn its shade,
The winds bewail the leafless tree,
But none shall breathe a sigh for me !
My life is like the prints which feet
Have left on Tampa's desert strand —
Soon as the rising tide shall beat,
His track will vanish from the sand ;
Yet, as if grieving to efface
All vestige of the human race,
On that lone shore loud moans the sea,.
But none shall e'er lament for me !
LOVE NOT.
MRS. CAROLINE NORTON'S sorrowful domestic experience might well have been the-
inspiration of her song « Love Not." The music was written by JOHN BLOCKLEY.
Love not !
Love not 1
love not!
love not !
ye hap - less sons of clay;
the thing you love may die, —
Hope's gay - cst
May per - ish
LOVE NOT.
237
are made
the gay
of earth - ly flowers —
and glad - some earth ;
Things that are made to
The si - lent stars, the
fade, and fall a - way,
blue and smil- ing sky,
4-^£-A
Ere they have blos-somed for a few.... short hours,
Beam on its grave, as once up - on.... its birth,
9 9
Ere they have blos-somed for a few.
Beam on its grave, as once up - on
short hours.
its -birth.
Love not! love.... not!
Love not! love.... not!
f r>
£=ii
J—
:£=
&EE
•*-*•
Love not, love not ! ye hapless sons of clay !
Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly
flowers —
Things that are made to fade and fall away,
Ere they have blossomed for a few short hours.
Love not!
Love not ! the thing ye love may change ;
The rosy lip may cease to smile on you,
The kindly-beaming eye grow cold and strange,
The heart still warmly beat, yet not be true !
Love not !
Love not! the thing you love may die, —
May perish from the gay and gladsome
earth ;
The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky,
Beam o'er its grave, as once upon its birth.
Love not !
Love not ! O warning vainly said
In present hours as in years gone by!
Love flings a halo round the dear ones' head
Faultless, immortal, till they change or die.
Love not !
COME, PLAY ME THAT SIMPLE AIR.
THOMAS MOORE wrote, and often- sang this familiar song. He could sing his own
songs as no artist has been able to sing them, and Byron, Scott, and many others have
testified to their great delight in hearing him. The melody is from a Waltz by Labitzky.
1. Come, play me- that sim - pie air a -gain, I used so to love in life's young day, And
2. Sweet air! how ev - 'ry note brings back Some sun - ny hope, some day-dream bright,That
3. But sing me the well-known air once more, For thoughts of youth still haunt its strain,Like
I
*
r
238
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
Fine.
bring, if thou canst, the dreams that then Were wak-en'd by that sweet lay.
Bhm - ing o'er life's ear - ly track, Fill'd ev - en its tears with light
charms of some far fui - ry shore We're nev - er to see a - earn
t,
gain.
S=^
m
5?
^
t
3E3
The ten - der gloom
The new- found life
Still those loved notes
its strain
that came,
pro - long,
Shed o'er the heart
With love's first ech
For sweet is that
and
oed
old
£
brow,
vow;
lay,
Grief's
The
In
•/\h
! 2 «' *»
J t?J
9
f 4
. ^ ^ .
{dy g » — * *•*—
J*
« 9 «
t ' m II
shad - ow, without its pain, Say where, where is it now?
fear, the bliss, the shame, Say where, where are they now?
dreams of love and song, To breathe life's love a - way.
» f » X i -.- XX
j~r-. 9 , 0-±- , , ^ >^ —
r —
0
t
L .
I
f f
^M? —
v —
— ?;? —
_
f
~ — r — r — r —
1 1~
!
1
p p p
LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.
THESE are characteristic words by THOMAS MOORE ; but the ancient Irish melody to
which they are sung, is appropriately entitled " The Old Woman." In the Memoirs of Sir
Jonah Barrington, it is related that a lady of high rank, listening, as he poured out a melt-
ing love-ditty, laid her hand upon his arm, exclaiming, " For heaven's sake, Moore, stop,
stop ! this is not good for my soul." Moore himself was often so affected, that voice
failed him. He writes in his diary, of a certain occasion, " If I had given way, I should
have burst out a crying ; as I remember doing many years ago at a large party at Lady
Rothe's. No one believes how much I am affected in singing, partly from being touched
myself, and partly from an anxiety to touch others."
8 p. ,
s
•
"S
*
1. Oh I the days are gone when Beau - ty bright My heart's
2. Tho' the bard to pur - er fame may soar When wild
3. Oh I that hal - low'd form is ne'er for - got, Which first
chain
youth's
love
LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.
wove; When my dream of life, from morn till night, Was love, still
past: Tho' he win the wise, who frown'd be - fore, To smile at
traced; Still it, lin - g'ring, haunts the green- est spot On mem - ry's
m
m
-j j j j
^
love. New hope may bloom, And days may come Of mild - er, calm - er
last, He'll nev - er meet A joy so sweet, In all his noon of
waste. 'Twas o - dor fled As soon as shed; 'Twas morn- ing's wing - ed
m
mm
^:
beam, But there's no - thing half so sweet in life As love's young
fame, As when first he sung to wo - man's ear, His soul - felt
dream; 'Twas a light that ne'er can shine a - gain On life's dull
lentando.
tempo.
J- J. I J
dream; No, there's no-thing half so sweet in life As love's young
flame, And, at ev' - ry close, she blush'd to hear The one lov'a
stream : Oh ! 'twas light that ne'er can shine a - gain On life's dull
dream.
name.
stream.
240 OUR FAMILIAR SOX(rS.
WHEN THE NIGHT-WIND BEWAILETH.
THE words of this song were written by EPES SARGENT, and the music was composed
by WILLIAM E. DEMPSTER.
r-p— — ^1
^
f
. *
— * — :
S V-i
s — K-
H M
-f^— fr-sHH
{jfr-A f J"
** I. When the
2. Through
3. The
J — £-~V ^ — • h -^ *—
night-wind be - wail - eth the fall of the
mem - o - rv's chambers, the forms of the
trees of the for - est shall bios - som a -
-4— — J 4 — — j) 3-^-|
year, And sweeps from the
past, The joys of my
gain; And the wild bird shall
r/^V /* '
j J _,
j
j -
• "j
* « i
d m m
* mm
5
1 i 1
?
1
-»
h 4
i
- -1
|
^ * *
-1-1-1 -*r -*- -4-
|_| | | 1
J «J W
EJi 1
4
: * 3
1
HH
• • •
^ +• ~+
1 j. 4 JH
'I 4 P
/L n K «H K.
j " ^
i* i* r
r * '
^— J— H jv
w h r
^ 4 4-
— H '*-. y
— — y H —
— * — — P— -« — pi — ' — m --~' — — • — v *• — — v —
for - est The leaves that are sere;.... I wake from my slum - ber, And
child- hood Rush by with the blast!.... And the lost one whose beau- ty I
car - ol A soul - thrill - ing strain;.... But the heart, fate has with - er'd, No
(nY~
1 1
~l i r
1 —
\ -j 1
-
— '••H — i —
— i
— h—
^— - 4
4
J
fj j
J
• J J J -
.
J ' m "
t 4 *
* 4
* 4 3
=^
-1-1-1 •*- -3
333 3 3
— i 1 — ._( —
-- i 4
t — •
—33*
-^r—
l # d ]
: *
i — i — •
~1 1 *
t
1 *T~"
+ * *
7 7
^
list
used
spring
to the roar; And it saith to
to a - dore, Seems to sigh with
shall re - store, And its songs shall
my
the
be
spir - it,
night breeze, " No
joy - ful No
more, nev - er
more, nev - er
more, nev - cr
moreP'And it
morc!"lomy
more ! And its
saith to my
heart seems to
songs shall be
spir-it, "No more, nev-er more! nev-er more!
murmur "No more, nev-er more! nev-er morel
joy-ful No more, nev-er more! nev-er more!
WHEN THE NIGHT- WIND BEWAILETH
rail, fi ^ ^ ^ ^ ^
241
Oh!.
Oh!.
Oh!.
nev - er more I".
nev-er more!".
nev - er more ! . .
EILEEN AROON.
THE author of the words of " Eileen Aroon," GERALD GRIFFIN, was born in Limerick,
Ireland, December 12, 1803. When he was seventeen years old, his family came to the
United States without him. Having determined to become an author, young Griffin went
to London with some plays, which failed then, but one of which, " Gisippus," was pro-
duced most successfully after his death. He became a brilliant and distinguished writer
for papers and magazines ; but he won no wide reputation until the appearance of his fine
novel " The Colleen Bawn, or the Collegians." He died in Cork, June 12, 1840.
The air to which his song was set is old, and a great favorite — " Eobin Adair j" but
it is claimed by Ireland as well as Scotland, where it is traced far back under the title of
"Eileen Aroon." In the Irish form, the air is simplicity itself, but the Scottish form has,
an added "lilt." Burns once wrote to Thomson: "I have tried my hand on 'Robin
Adair,' and you will probably think with little success ; but it is such a cursed, cramp, out-
of-the-way measure, that I despair of doing anything better to it."
Samuel Lover, quoting this remark of Burns', adds : " Now, the Irish air in its original
purity, is as smooth as an unbroken ascending and descending scale can make it ; it is any-
thing but the 'cursed, cramp, out-of-the-way measure' of which Burns' sensitive ear was.
so conscious in the Scotch form." The famous French opera, "La Dame Blanche," by
Francois Adrieu Boieldieu, is founded on this air.
Andante.
t
like the ear - ly rose, Ei - leen
- roonl
Beau - ty
espresstvo
(16)
842
OUR
SONGS.
JL 2 f~~"~1 — & j* —
-* f *-- — ^ ' f — E=
child- hood's blows, Ei - leen a - roon! '
~$~fi — ~\ — j — <~l — n^™ '^^ j | -
1 i — « — •
WTien, like a di - a - dem,
" J- ^ j J [ELECT
I r r r f r'r- ^ i !
JV f f f — j — t f r r i*"> -7
• ^ r 1 i ' J=F^^B
£>• -J— * — i — U [^f -f
Buds blush a - round the stem, Which is the fa
0 b J -1 -!— r-l K r-J -.TTTl r -
— Ea — ^ « J — -ii
r • est gem? Ei - leen a - roon!
Is J In
/fuy | — f — i j— • J J -d
^. — e — ^ h- i ^H
S^ — *****- -g-= — j — i \ fif f ^t
t d — 9—-* — i — * ^ 1
%
X3 . /^' . ^ . (T
2 .
^X t=..,. — [ .... • -\ . .
- ^~\ — ^"-"x7^
z tp Lj£ L_p
When, like the early rose,
Eileen aroon !
Beauty in childhood blows,
Eileen aroon !
When, like a diadem,
Buds blush around the stem,
Which is the fairest gem?
Eileen aroon !
Is it the laughing eye,
Eileen aroon!
Is-it the timid sigh,
Eileen aroon !
Is it the tender tone,
Soft as the stringed harp's moan?
Oh, it is truth alone,
Eileen aroon !
When, like the rising day,
Eileen aroon !
Love sends his early ray,
Eileen aroon!
What makes his dawning glow
Changeless through joy and woe?
Only the constant know —
Eileen aroon!
I know a valley fair,
Eileen aroon I
I knew a cottage there,
Eileen aroon !
Far in that valley's shade,
I knew a gentle maid,
Flower of a hazel glade,
Eileen aroon !
Who in the song so sweet?
Eileen aroon !
Who in the dance so fleet?
Eileen aroon!
Dear were her charms to me,
Dearer her .laughter — free,
Dearest her constancy,
Eileen aroon !
Were she no longer true,
Eileen aroon !
What should her lover do?
Eileen aroon !
Fly with his broken chain
Far o'er the sounding main,
Never to love again,
Eileen aroon !
Youth must with time decay,
Eileen aroon !
Beauty must fade away,
Eileen aroon !
Castles are sacked in war,
Chieftains are scattered far,
Truth is a fix£d star,
Eileen aroon !
GO! FORGET ME!
GO! FORGET ME!
243
KEY. CHARLES WOLFE wrote the words of the following song. The music is from
MOZART, who wrote many pleasing songs.
WOLFGANG MOZART is a rare instance of an infant prodigy, whose intellectual powers
grew with the boy's growth to manhood. At four years old, he could play the harpsichord
correctly, and in that year he made a concerto to be played upon it. A year later, he, with
his musical little sister, was the wonder of the Imperial Court. At eight, he played the
organ at the English court, and only his compositions were played in, public concerts. The
facts of his troubled life are familiar. u Idomeneo," the opera which won him the lady
he loved, is one of his favorite compositions; but perhaps " Don Giovanni" is considered
his greatest dramatic work. When it was being rehearsed in Prague, he said to the chapel-
master, who was praising the work : " People err if they think my art has cost me no
trouble ; I assure you, my dear friend, no one has taken such pains with the study of com-
position as I. There is hardly a celebrated master in music whom I have not carefully
and, in many cases, several times, studied through!" Mozart was born in Salzburg, Ger-
many, January 27, 1756, and died in Vienna, December 5, 1791. The air of " Go ! forget
me!" like " Days of Absence," is familiar in sacred music.
. v
1. Go! for- get me! why should sor-row O'er that brow a shad - ow fling?
Go ! for - get me 1 and, to - mor - row, Bright-ly smile and sweet- ly §ing. —
Smile tho' I shall not be nearthee; Sing tho' I should nev - er hearthee:
*, i na.
^f ^
244
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
May thy soul with pleas - ure shine,
Last - ing as the gloom of mine.
^=F=5
EZ:
Go, forget me, why should sorrow,
O'er that brow a shadow fling;
Go, forget me, and to-morrow
Brightly smile and sweetly sing.
Smile, though I shall not be near thee ;
Sing, though I should never hear thee ;
May thy soul with pleasure shine,
Lasting as the gloom of mine.
Like the sun, thy presence glowing,
Clothes the meanest thing in light;
And when thou, like him, art going,
Loveliest objects fade in night.
All things looked so bright about thee
That they nothing seem without thee :
By that pure and lucid mind,
Earthly things were too refined.
Go, thou vision wildly gleaming,
Softly on my soul that fell ;
Go, for me no longer beaming, —
Hope and beauty, fare ye well !
Go, and all that once delighted,
Take, and leave me all benighted; —
Glory's burning, generous swell,
Fancy and the poet's shell.
THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK.
THIS song is one of a series upon the " Superstitions of Ireland," written by SAMUEL
LOVER, who also made the music. The four-leaved shamrock, so rarely found, is supposed
to endue the finder with magic power. Moore somewhere says, it is traditionally related
that St. Patrick made use of the species of trefoil called the shamrock, in explaining the
doctrine of the Trinity to the Pagan Irish, and thus it was adopted as the national emblem:
and Miss Beaufort, in the "Transactions of the Royal Academy," remarks that "it is a
curious- coincidence the trefoil plant (shamroc and shamrakh, in Arabic) having been held
sacred in Iran, and considered emblematical of the Persian Triad."
:g_^_J=^=r
1. I'll seek a four - loav'd shamrock,
2. To worth, I would give hon-or,
3. The heart that had been mourning,
In all the fai - ry dells, And
I'd dry the mourner's tears, And
O'er van - ish'd dreams of love, Should
THE FO UB- LEAVED SHAMROCK.
245
!y=n^
if I find the charme'd leaves, Oh! how I'll weave my spells;...... I
to the pal -lid lip re - call, The smile of hap - pier years, And
see them all re - turn - ing, Like No - ah's faith - ful dove And
3C3C ~^-
fiS — *—
I^_PL_
«
I*
— b-
— 1
2
~f5
\J
~* « 0 • 0— 3
•f
would
hearts
hope
. * ^~
not waste my
that had been
should launch her
mag
long
bless
- ic might
es - trang'd,
- ed bark
On
And
On
dia -
friends
Sor -
mond,
that
row's
^ .-.^ |_ ^ -*
pearl, or gold, For
had grown cold, Should
dark' - ning sea, And
JL U
3
-^<1
—Is ]
^^^^
1 srH
cpr ~b —
— — t —
/
— *—
— 7—
^ —
Sj
-*—
if
"=l
j 5 —
Vr )/
5 ;
2
i__
-
^
±" 1
*• •*• -*.
^g; r.
— 9 —
— *
-9—
«
— b —
/
"1 \
d
— 1
9 —
= ^
(P
ritard.
ad lib.
a
tempo.
fa* ? -* -
»
:^3
:£
:_^
H
— • —
-1* f "*
—j—
HS— q
- — £ 3
treas -
meet
Mis' -
ure
a -
ry's
tires
gain
child
»
the
like
- ren
wea
part
have
— h-
- ry
- ed
an
sense,
streams,
ark,
/
Such tri -
And min
And sav'd
{;*"*
umph
- gle
from
is
as
sink -
— i—
but cole
of old;
ing be;
; But
Oh!
Oh!
— * —
— |—
»
-'-
J
*-T—
— i *-
-
,
'-i*
^r ^ ?
- d —
*~^~ 9 "
I* ;
9 -- -j
0 0 -,
b -• •• -
"'-*
-f • ~7* 3*
4 , -N-
— ,s
JC
i
would
plav
th'
enchanter's part, In
4 - i
cast -ing
bliss
a -
round,
Oh!
thus
I'd
p'av
th'
enchanter's part, Thus
scat - ter
bliss
a -
round,
And
thus
I'd
play
th'
enchanter's part, Thus
scat - ter
bliss
a -
round,
And
-&—^ =^
pEp?3E35E
246
or/,1 F.\.MI1.1AR SONGS,
ad lib.
' — "f*~ T~~ •="= * -iE"'_ j* - -0—» — '-*-*•
."
not
a tear nor ach - ing heart. Should in the world be found, Should
s
rfr — f — * i IL
m
in the world be found
|H ^s=f=s^=Jz=f=f=j= =t=£fc»tt*
!«
P
EH
* *~~ -0- -0- -0-
i_A_jL_JL-5LjE :
— • — * — — — \~. — i
THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL.
IN the memoirs of Mrs. Fitz-Herbert, Lord Stourton says that her beauty was cele-
brated in a popular song, which refers to the addresses of the heir apparent.
" I'd crowns resign to call her mine,
Sweet lass of Richmond Hill."
A letter published in the London Times, and dated from the Garrick Club, March
30, 1856, signed "The Grandson of the Lass of Richmond Hill," says: "Lord Stourton is
wrong. This popular song was written by LEONAKD MORALLY (bora September 27, 1752), a
man of some repute in his day, as a barrister as well as an author. 'The Lass of Richmond
Hill,' was written in honor of Miss Janson, the daughter of Mr. William Jauson, of Richmond
Hill, Leybourne, Yorkshire, a lady to whom he was married at St. George's, Hanover
Square, on the 16th of January, 1787. In addition to ' The Lass of Richmond Hill/ Leonard
McNally wrote various ballads and romances of great merit."
The music of this song, which was long popularly ascribed to the Prince of Wales,
afterward George IV., is the composition of Mr. Hook, father of Theodore Hook. The
tune was in vogue when Handel was in London, and many have observed the similarity
between it and the first passage of « The Heavens are Telling." The song was a favorite
with George III.
1- On Richmond Hill there lives a lass, More bright than May - day
zeph-yrs gay that fan the air, And wan - ton thro' the
K How hap- py will the shep - herd be, Who calls this nymph his
morn,
grove,
own ;
Whose
O
Oh !
THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL.
247
charms all oth - er maids sur - pass ; A rose with - out a thorn. This lass so neat, with
whisper to my charm-ing fair, "I die for her I love." This lass so neat, with
may her choice be fixed on me, Mine's fixed on her a - lone. This lass so neat, with
1 • -i
EE3
> — y~
• /* p
smiles so sweet, Has won my right good will,.... I'd crowns re -sign to call thee mine, Sweet
_ _ __ __ _
~^ _ T ~ _ ^ ~|
Lass of Richmond Hill, Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill, Sweet Lass of Richmond
^ f ad lib.
— ' = ?— I— u< V ==t
Hill,
I'd crowns re - sign to call thee mine, Sweet Lass of Richmond
II
248
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
g^sri — »T-J-*- — *— T— J— — fc— r— U— — t
^•S^J-f 1 -j -•— -— — 5 *: ' m ~ — t * *
is =;=*=£=
THE LASS O' GOWRIE.
THE first stanza of the present form of this old Scottish song, which was a great favor-
ite with our forefathers, was written by LADY NAIRNE, and the remaining ones seem to be
altered from a song written by WILLIAM EEID, entitled " Kate o' Growrie." The air is an
adaptation from a favorite old melody, " Loch Erroch Side," for which Mr. Reid's words
were written.
*
1. 'Twas on a sim - mer's af - ter - noon, A wee be - fore the sun gaed doun, My
2. I had nae thought to do her wrang, But 'round her waist my arms I Hang, Aiid
3. Saft kiss - es on her lips I laid, The blush up - on her cheeks soon spread, She
x^T •«•
las - sie, in a braw new goun, Cam' o'er the hills to Gow - rie. The
said, " my las - sie. will ye gang To see the Carse o' Gow- rie? I'll
whisper'd mod - est - ly and said, " I'll gang wi' you to Gow - rie." The
-— f\
— ==1^=11^^= ==^q=
•-»
! r ^J ±±=
•^ >
^•EBpE. ^=£j3p=S±
— !*». }- ^ *A -*^ ^<—
—•^ J_> > ^ 1 —^
rose - bud, wash'd in summer's show'r, Bloom'd fresh with - in the sun - ny
tak' ye to my fath -er's ha', In yon green field be - side the
auld folk soon gied their con -sent, Syne for Mess John they quick -ly
bow'r. But
shaw, And
sent, "VVha
THE LASS O> GOWRIE.
249
==$ * u 0=*= ==P==:f=±^:^=:^=-J--Lq
Kit - ty was the fair • est flow'r That ev - er bloom'd m Gow - rie.
mak' ye la - dy o' them a'— The braw -est wife in Gow - rie.
tied them to theij heart's con - tent, And now she's La - dy Gow - rie.
HAD I A HEART FOR FALSEHOOD FRAMED.
KICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, dramatist, orator, wit, and poet, is author of the soDg
which follows. His eventful history is as well known as his " School for Scandal," and
"Rivals." He was born in Dublin, Ireland, in September, 1751, but was educated at Har-
row, England, and always remained in that country. His first wife was Miss Linley, a
beautiful singer, and he fought two duels on her account, with a disappointed rival. Sheri-
dan died July 7, 1816.
The song " Had I a Heart for Falsehood framed" is contained in " The Duenna," a
comic opera, which had a great run. Moore says of the song : " These verses, notwith-
standing the stiffness of the word ' framed/ and one or two slight blemishes, are not un-
worthy of living in recollection with the matchless air to which they are adapted." The
air is " Grammachree," to which Moore wrote " The Harp that once through Tara's Halls."
2C~ tt/v
_ — ,
-H T h — J
Im-ffl. j 't * • • J
«*
»
I * i fj
ly r
* g • * \
+J 0
1. Had I a heart for false
2. But when they learn that you
A
hood framed, I ne'e
have blessed An - oth
r could in - jure
er with your
~P~ •!~~J\ — 1 1 "1
fe-fe— * -p }_; — | — J J3: r*
5? 5 5 5
' ' " 1
SE --i=y^
<^ <I>
~\— * — i — - — i — g~~ i~~ 1
._4 — a 1 L_». — | 1
—»•*—«• —»••*•—*•
•*••«• •*••*•
— tat
. » J
^^
--i
-»—
For though your tongue no prom - ise claim'd, Your
They'll bid as - pir - ing pas - sion rest, And
4=f=-=^=:
3E=3EfEj
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
charms would make me true ;
act a broth - er's part.
Then,
Then,
i
friends in all the aged you'll meet, And lov - ers in
the young.
THE YOUNG MAY MOON.
THIS is a song of MOORE'S, and the old Irish air to which it is sung is entitled " The
Dandy, oh!"
*
hj 2 2
ifcz^r5— h
* * * m *
~ m
t \
^&EEE±= p — r
1. The young May m
2. Now all the wt
*—
son is
•rid is
i
•x=* • 0 0—0- -j ft 1— i i^— -1 — (-j — > 1
beam- ing, love, The glow-worm's lamp is gleam - ing, love, How
sleep- ing, love, But the Sage, his star-watch keep -ing, love, And
* i K 1 1 £ 1 K-T-T £ -J H^— 1
~ j— n 1 -^ 9 «f— — m at at—
-ft -f f
te
1
^
>-
~0 J— *g=igJ
*• *• f f
^ '4—
0. 0. —
8__. .
-* -!• — p
L, u— f
' -*— 1
-*_! 4 V-
d_ — ^. —
1_ * —
* ^—
i J
IM, 1 C
>f .\
-r ^
B.aJ J/CM
>.\.
S51
f~fl 9 » a —
ad lib.
-t=P^-ZI
iTS
m -*!
£
=3]
a tempo.
^ -£T
3 — £-
-4—
-$--$-
-U=J=^-
•?-
~> -
-«-
s=?-*
-:
-r L
i J
-* —
"9 •—_ ^
sweet to rove Thro' Mor - na's grove, When the drow - sy world is dream -ing, love I Then a -
I, whose star, More glo - rious far, Is the eye from that casement peep -ing, love! Then a -
V p i I ;" ^ m-pz
/W • )• -.1
y f 9 * g 9
0 B> 0
m 1* 1 I/'
« " - * m—m *
'
C32 ' * " * 1 * * *
jj *J [
rT t^ (X
- wake ! the heav'ns look bright, my dear, 'Tis
- wake ! till rise of sun, my dear, The
nev-er too late for de -
Sa-ge's glass we'll
light, my dear ; And the
shun, my dear ; Or, in
y ! N i S N 'j S
! ^1 S
_i f^ Jl K 1
/LT — i — _ -i — — i — : — 9— — ! — d — — i —
j ^ 0 -__
_j j^J j — 3
•^ •*• •+••*• •+• -f -f •*• -••
-* -*• *" •
Jt 1 — 8 1 J
^-r*==*=* — QEiEE= — 1— *=
.9.
<z tempo.
best of all ways To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear,
watching the flight Of bod - ies of light He might happen to take thee for one, my dear.
l\ /T*
^3
i
=q=xz
LOVE'S RITORNELLA.
A Eitornella is a symphony before, between, or following a melody. " Love's Ritor-
nella" was written by JAMES EOBINSON PLANCHE, the well-known English author and musi-
cal critic, who was born in London, February 27, 1796. He prepared for the stage two
hundred pieces, original or translated, and published various works, one of the latest of
which is a professional autobiography. He died in London, May 29, 1880. A London
friend says of him : " Late in life, when he had hoped to repose on his laurels, his daughter
was left a widow, and other misfortunes threw his children's children largely on his hands.
But he bravely accepted the position, and without a murmur ; and possibly to this very
fact the world may owe the two latest and ripest productions of his green old age."
252
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
THOMAS COOKE, invariably spoken of by his contemporaries as Tom Cooke, the com-
poser of the music, was born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1781. He had an exceedingly versatile
musical genius, and had mastered almost every known instrument before he became
singer, musical director, leader, and composer at Drury Lane Theatre, London, which post
he held for years. He had neither a powerful nor a very sweet voice ; but judicious man-
agement of it made him a favorite singer, and in social life, his pleasant ways and ready
wit won him many friends. He died in 1848.
" Love's Ritomella" became very popular by being sung in New York by James W.
Wallaok, in a play called "The Brigand."
linf- 3
* 1 ' 1 f " " "*' "
- i
1. "Gen - tie Zi
8. "Charm- ing Zi
3. "Sim • pie Zi
i*-a— *- -i — -j-
- tel - la, whith - er a
- tel - la, why should'st thou
- tel - la, be - ware! oh! be
— » — — *f — — ™"^ —
way?
care?
- ware I
1 ™*
9>~fr I — 1"
w ~0*
\
0 0 _j J
1
f\'Z 1 ^
•
— ^— H
^* -JJ- 7
? 0 — -?—
4=d -5 — j
— 0
0
I 1 S K —
it*- fc
0 •— _^^ \ — • =£ T-
J=n 7
ffis 3 • —
\j j * 1 \j
I *
Lore's Ri - tor -
Night is not
List ye no
nel - la, list, while I
dark - er than thy ra - ven
dit - ty, grant ye no
tr y
play !"
hair,
pray'r !
f-* -\— — ~.
1
— • • ' -—j 9
-0
^=7 J 0____
•9- •*•
4--j =
'1— - — * —
J j_ —
—0- -^ ^ _^ ^ _X
i-ib
— r— s H
W J T •~a^
" No ! I have
And those bright
To your light
^ * * * * *
lin - ger'dtoo long on the
eyes if the Bri - gand should
foot - steps let . ter - ror add
_J_ L._
road,
sec,
wings
TT "*"
— 1 ,
5- .
2 I m
-• , "/, ,
-*• *
Night is ad
Thou art the
'Tis Mas - sa
vane - ing, The Bri - gand's a
rob - ber, The cap - tive is
ro - ni Him - self who now
broad ;
he;
sings—
IS ^
3* * 'S
-_•
— J- - <4 ' •
L o !'
ni roj;\EL LA.
253
s •• - ^
0
— iT* — 1 * —
.... _,*•
'•'—0
n
$D ^ *
1 *'
*•
•if"
T ^ 1 '
*
- |E
9
9 ^
Lone - ly
Zi
- tel -
la
hath too
much
to
ft
:ar;
Gten • tie Zi
- tel -
la
ban
- ish
thy
fear;
Gen - tie Zi
- tel -
la
ban
• ish
thy
fear;
&== =+=^=q
' *f s
? i
(ff) L- • «
^ifc=F ?—
— I .* _J j. "
1
-t=*^
- |— |^
5 —
c—
1
1 f
R
V ft
P
p
* •>
t
—s H
OS — H
9
— f—
— — ^ —
-3 H
^ )/ _j
/ f
.j !J
II
»J *
v \r
Love's
Ri -
tor
- nel - la
she may
not
hear."
Love's
Ri -
tor
- nel - la
tar - ry
and
hear.''
Love's
Ri -
tor
- nel - la
tar - ry
and
hear."
DOWN THE BURN.
THIS song first appeared in Eamsay's "Tea-Table Miscellany." The two original
stanzas were written by EGBERT CRAWFTJED, who was a cadet of the house of Drumsay, in
Renfrewshire, Scotland. He was born in 1695, but spent most of his time in France, and
was drowned when returning from there in 1732-'3. He was supposed to have been a
friend of William Hamilton, author of " The Braes of Yarrow," as it was through his influ-
ence that Crawfurd's poems found entrance to Ramsay's collection, and a song of Craw-
furd's is addressed to Mrs. Hamilton. The stanza given below was added by Burns, who
says that neighborhood tradition gave the composition of the air to DAVID MAIGH, keeper
of the blood-hounds to the Laird of Riddell, in Roxburghshire.
As down the burn they took their way,
And through the flowery dale,
His cheek to hers he aft did lay,
And love was aye the tale.
With, " Mary, when shall we return,
Sic pleasure to renew ? "
Quoth Mary, " Love, I like the burn,
And aye will follow you."
r II FAMILIAR SOXKS.
1. When trees did bud, and fields were green,
2. Now, Da - vy did each lad sur - pass
3. Her cheeks were ro - sy red and white,
And broom bloom'd fair to
That dwelt on this burn
Her een were bon - ny
fe
J^r-M^-e
3
3S
m
~, ^>. -~
f^ a m \ ,^-— f •
•J£J ;7'i
love laugh'd in her e'e.
meet to be a bride,
lips like drop - ping dew.
Blithe
4bHf-H>-f-
Da - vy's blinks her heart did move To sp3ak her mind thus free :— " Gang
ir
T
DOWN THE BURN.
(ny=£ — > j^f ' J • *n*~
-v — P br • f ' g r ^ — ^~5^ — f^-5 ^ f
down the burn, Da - vy love, down the burn, Da - vy love, Down the burn, Da- vy love, and
f}
y \ n.
X "1 *1 N "1 P 1 p
*1P*1 P1P1P *1N1 N *1 hi •! IS
fm \
J JJ J P ill
EC n J 0 *
• •» m . m J J J
3 i ^ £ 2 v 5:55: ^ $ $ $
fe). ji ^ i f i r "i
; i T. i fs i p_^_ j i i> i-j' i (• 1-^
^"^ — b1 1*1 —
* j : i 1 L_ _T_
JL-+— f — r ' g r — P
* *.0ff\s ^ff
fc J h — P — £-f — * — a' jj- — 1, . P ' — J-^V*-J — u — "-^
I will fol - low thee. Down the burn, Da - vy love, down the burn, Da - vy love,
rail.
r\
p-^^
m~^ ^ — S1 — if~J ^^
— X — 35 ^ 1 •£ — •£ — ^~™^ —
tJ $ 1: $ * ^ * ' -^-J-
. r**-B i r*^s i
& r i — r^H — r-
— S S ^ * S S — •* J
i j — -p- -f-
down the burn, Da- vy love, Gang down the burn, Da- vy love, And I will fol - low thee."
Jf **» ^» ^*^3 "* ^ «i PH N« PH ^«N l\*
^j— ^ ^ — *"• 3 J
j — *\ — i* — *\~f — si — F — si — r — -i ft H d — ^ — i
3j — f 3 ' — p ' P • — J-^— : ^ ^ H
WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME.
THE precise date of the birth of JAMES HOGG, author of the following song, is not
kaown. He believed that he was born January 25, 1772, but the baptismal register of
lifctrick, his native parish, records his baptism as occurring December 9, 1770. At six
years old, he was bound out as cow-boy, and was paid for his first year's service in " one
ewe lamb, and a pair of shoes." He had but six months' schooling, and when eighteen
years old, taught himself to read. For practice in writing, he copied the Italian alphabet
upon a paper spread on his knees, his ink-bottle being hung at his button-hole; for he was
on the hill-side watching his sheep. When at last he ventured to write out the verses that
had formed themselves in his mind, he flung off his coat and vest for the effort, and could
put down but few lines at a sitting. He died November 21, 1835. In 1860, a monument
was raised to his memory, on the margin of St. Mary's Lake, in Ettrick Forest, where his
250
OUIt FAMILIAR SONGS.
early days were passed. It consists of a statue that represents the poet sitting on a
gnarled oak root, in deep contemplation. The figure is on a lofty pedestal, which bears
appropriate inscriptions,— among them, this from one of his own poems :
Flow, my Ettrick ! it was thee
Into life that first did drop me ;
Thee I'll sing, and when I dee,
Thou wilt lend a sod to hap me.
Passing swains will say, and weep,
" Here our Shepherd lies asleep."
To his pastoral song, which was first published in his novel entitled "The Three
Perils of Man," Hogg gave the name " When the kye comes hame," and he says : " I choose
rather to violate a rule in grammar, in the title and chorus, than a Scottish phrase so com-
mon that when it is altered into the proper way, every shepherd and shepherd's sweet-
heart account it nonsense. I was once singing at a wedding in great glee, l When the kye
come hame,' when a tailor, scratching his head, said it was a ' terrible affectit way that.'
I stood corrected, and have never sung it so again."
The air is an old one, with a very Scotchy-sounding name of " Shame fa' the gear and
the blathrie o't."
tell ye o* a se - cret that courtiers din-na ken : What is the great-est bliss that the
r H ^ J
CHORUS.
bni — f • * r — r — j~
ii — ^— l
'-*...
b K
, J
tongue o' man can name? Tis to
\\
p^
* — £— I ; * «.
i^ — jX •
oo a bon- nie las- sie wh(
;n the
j * * ^ \ -
kye comes hame.When the
j."f^
^^
\J
f3 "l
\-/' L-- -- — L ~.
-^
t
i
t • j
S5
' *
* ^ ^
^ r t =
L| — |t_ji 3
WHEN THE KTE COMES NAME.
kye comes bame, when the kye comes hame, 'Tween the gloam - in' and the mirk,~When the
m
j - 3 j
W~F p 1
hr H ^
u \ =\
t±_p JE 1
9 3 '
%
1
£3
kve comes hame.
&T~j '
»
; ; .
; t ••-
a u
&^ •
d • '"
dim.
^3 d h-
PV-
c^
r^=H
_j. .j. j. .^. j
= i — 5
Come, all ye jolly shepherds,
That whistle through the glen !
I'll tell ye o' a secret
That courtiers dinna ken :
What is the greatest bliss
That the tongue o' man can name?
'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie
When the kye comes hame!
'Tis not beneath the burgonet,
Nor yet beneath the crown ;
'Tis not on couch o' velvet,
Nor yet in bed o' down :
'Tis beneath the spreading birk,
In the glen without the name,
Wi' a bonnie, bonnie lassie,
When the kye comes hame.
There the blackbird bigs his nest
For the mate he lo'es to see,
And on the tap most bough
Oh, a happy bird is he !
There he pours his melting ditty,
And love is a' the theme ;
And he'll woo his bonnie lassie,
When the kye comes hame.
When the blewart bears a pearl,
And the daisy turns a pea,
And the bonnie lucken gowan
Has fauldit up his ee,
Then the laverock, frae the blue lift,
Draps down and thinks nae shame
To woo his bonnie lassie,
When the kye comes hame.
See yonder pawky shepherd,
That lingers on the hill;
His yowes are in the fauld,
And his lambs are lying still;
Yet he downa gang to bed,
For his heart is in a flame,
To meet his bonnie lassie,
When the kye comes hame.
When the little wee bit heart
Rises high in the breast,
And the little wee bit starn
Rises red in the east,
Oh, there's a joy sae dear
That the heart can hardly frame!
Wi' a bonnie, bonnie lassie,
When the kye comes hame.
Then, since all nature joins
In this love without alloy,
Oh, wha wad prove a traitor
To Nature's dearest joy !
Oh wha wad choose a crown,
Wi' its perils an' its fame,
And miss his bonnie lassie,
When the kye comes hame?
(17)
858
OUK FAMILIAR SONGS.
WHEN STARS ARE IN THE QUIET SKIES.
EDWARD BULWER, LORD LTTTON, who wrote these dainty Hues, was an historian and a
poet, although preeminent as a novelist ; being author of about twenty romances. He
wrote a few plays, among which is the "Lady of Lyons," one of the favorites of the stage.
He was born in May, 1805, and died in London, January 18, 1873.
m
thee;
Bend on me then thy ten- der eyes.
! t* h r r*
As stars look on
the
r h r
m
2C — 35 —
i
| — ; a| a|
i — t — ^
~»t ' «S d —
— p
i
i i
t~= 1
—
i
' • V 9
i »
*-• W W
9
<r -.
> • 1
A^ m
sea! For thoughts, like waves that glide by night, Are still - est when they
^. ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ Jr- J . ^.. ^ ^.. ^.
fcy-* ~ P
-4
>-= • V
• 9 0 —
-f — ^-r-
L . — ^
> 1
t— m
1 &— — L, y \j ,
1 P 1 ^ 1 (_
¥ ¥ V—1 H-
v—\
^
shine ; Mine earth-ly love lies hush'd in light
Be - neath the heav'n of
fi
thine ; Mine carth-ly love lies hush'd in
! f* I
light
Be - neath the heav'n of
thine.
m
When stars are in the quiet skies,
Then most I pine for the'e;
Bend on me then thy tender eyes,
As stars look on the sea !
For thoughts, like waves that glide by night,
Are stillest when they shine ;
Mine earthly love lies hushed in light
Beneath the heaven of thine.
There is an hour when angels keep
Familiar watch on men,
When coarser souls are wrapped in sleep,
Sweet spirit, meet me then.
v
There is an hour when holy dreams
Through slumber, fairest, glide,
And in that mystic hour it seems
Thou shouldst be by my side.
The thoughts of thee too sacred are
For daylight's common beam ;
I can but know thee as my star,
My angel, and my dream .'
When stars are in the quiet skies,
Then most I pine for thee;
Bend on me then thy tender eyes,
As stars look on the sea.
KITTY NEIL.
KITTY NEIL.
THE words of " Kitty Neil" were written by JOHN FRANCIS WALLER, an Irish lawyer,
author, and poet, who was born in Limerick, 1810. He is highly educated, has written
much, and for many years edited the Dublin University Magazine, to which he con-
tributed largely under the nom deplume of "Jonathan Freke Slingsby." He is still a bar-
rister in Dublin.
The music of the song is a favorite Irish melody, entitled " Huish the Cat from under
the Table."
-Jt-
l^EjE^
:3=f= ?-
-0 — * — *—
— is — — — : —
=H^=fc£=te::£
=r=h3-— *=j-
"Ah, sweet Kit - ty Neil, rise up from your wheel, Your neat lit - tie foot will be
'W^^'-
r-ff— o — ? J -
z-Mr i -0
-^
'—{—
j* • +- —I p aj —^
—9 j. s— ^ «. 5=
. -U_Ii 0 0 0 r~0 0 0
t • ft _ Ti f* I ™~ __j -J~ — -
• *mfrtr y i : «J
ff~ft I J ' ~j . . i T^, J3IZZI3IZ
-- *>T~ ~ nS —
:-fce=i=::-
~t±?zz zz«;
gg
wea - ry from spinning ; Come, trip down with me to the syc - a - more tree, Half the
par -ish is there, and the dance is be - gin - ning ; The sun is gone down, but the
&
-T
^T*-tt— * '
" It W ? *
J
?—
, J . J .
J
' "1.
J
•
:5^=?E
* • *
full bar - vest - moon Shines sweet-ly and cool on the dew- whit - en'd val - ley, While
260
OUB FAMILIAR SONGS.
E
all the air rings with the soft, loving things, Each little bird sings in the green shaded al - ley."
With a blush and a smile, Kitty rose up, the
while
Her eye in the glass, as she bound her hair,
glancing :
Tis hard to refuse when a young lover sues,
So she couldn't but choose to go off to the
dancing.
And now on the green the glad groups are seen,
Each gay-hearted lad with the lass of his
choosing;
And Pat, without fail, leads out sweet Kitty
Neil —
Somehow, when he asked, she ne'er thought
of refusing.
Now, Felix Magee puts his pipes to his knee,
And, with flourish so free, sets each couple in
motion ;
With a cheer and a bound, the lads patter the
ground —
The maids move around just like swans on the
ocean.
Cheeks bright as the rose — feet light as the
doe's —
Now coyly retiring, now boldly advancing;
Search the world all around, from the sky to the
ground,
No such sight can be found as an Irish lass
dancing!
Sweet Kate ! who could view your bright eyes of
deep blue,
Beaming humidly through their dark lashes so
mildly,
Your fair-turned arm, heaving breast, rounded
form,
Nor feel his heart warm, and his pulses throb
wildly ?
Poor Pat feels his heart, as he gazes, depart,
Subdued by the smart of such painful yet
sweet love ;
The sight leaves his eye, as he cries with a sigh,
" Dance light, for my heart it lies under your
feet, love."
FLY NOT YET.
WHEN THOMAS MOORE was in this country, a company assembled in a Philadelphia
parlor to meet him, and when there was a suggestion of " departing-time," Moore said
that if the guests would stay he would write them a song and sing it on the spot. « Fly
Not Yet" was the result, sung to an old melody called " Planxty Kelly."
2J 'th8 Justf^ch«ur7henP^sure,like the mid-night flow'r That scorns the eye of
2. Fly not yet; the fount that play'd In times of old thro' Ammon's shade/Tho' i - cy cold by
FLY NOT YET.
261
vul - gar light, Begins to bloom for sons of night, And maids who love the moon,
day it ran, Yet still, like souls of mirth, be -gan, To burn when night was near.
•*-
Twas
And
but to bless these hours of shade, That beau -ty and the moon were made, 'Tis then their soft at -
thus should woman's hearts and looks, At noon be cold as win -ter brooks, Nor kin - die till the
trac - tions glowing, Set the tides and gob - lets flow - ing. Oh, stay !
night, re - turn- ing, Brings their ge - nial hour for burn -ing. Oh, stay!
Oh,
Oh,
stay !
stay!
£-*tt-f — f — <• — •-
-0 ^ — -p...
— » — • —
H P— i -H
f^_S_ _U C L_
-r b ^
[^ , ^_
Joy so sel - dom weaves a chain, Like this to - night that oh ! 'tis pain To
When did morn - ing ev - er break, And find such beam - ing eyes a - wake, As
# 1 fs | s , s
ijt tj~?» * * ^~JT * • J" 1 ? "f ~~* =j~~s' — ^ " — r^^
-t—^-0 1 — -^
9 j
— fe± EET
i E '
^ |H J
262
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
*=s=g ==^_f_Eg^
t-t=±^ — *— — =53
break its links so soon.
those that spar- kle here?
Oh! stay, Oh! stay; Joy so sel - dom
Oh ! stay, Oh ! stay ; When did morn - ing
: w
N
EE^E^E^EFpf^i
i | . , |^ S
weaves a chain Like this to-night, that oh ! 'tis pain To break its links so soon,
ev - er break, And find such beam-ing eyes a -wake As those that spar -kle here?
TOO LATE I STAYED.
WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER, author of the following song, was born in 1770. He was
the grandson of two dukes, the cherished light of an elegant circle, and the warm friend of
Thomas Moore, who addressed an enthusiastic poem to him from Niagara Falls. As a test
of memory, for a wager, Spencer once learned the whole contents of a newspaper by
rote, and repeated them without the omission of a single word. He held the office of
Commissioner of Stamps; but at last died in great poverty in Paris, in 1834. The old
Irish' melody which forms the basis of his favorite song, was entitled " The Slender Coat."
1. Too late I
2. And who to
staid— for -
so - ber
give the crime; Un
ii ii -as - ure-ment Time's
heed - ed
hap - py
flew the
swift -ness
[i
TOO LATE I STAYED.
i
on - ly treads on flow'rs
plu - mage of their wings
-count, re - marks The eb - bing of his glass;
-give the crime; Un - heed - ed flew the hours,
When
For
all its sands are diamond sparks That daz
noise - less falls the foot of time That on
zle as they
ly treads on
flowers.
'TIS MIDNIGHT HOUR.
THIS, one of the most familiar of songs, is an orphan and a waif. I have been unable
to gain any clue to author or composer. The melody is probably an old English one.
1. 'Tis mid - night hour,
2. 'Tis mid- night hour,
the moon shines bright,
from flow'r to flow'r
The dew - drops blaze
The way - ward zeph
be-
yr
264
OUK FAMILIAR SOM.;*.
-neath her
floats a
ray ;
long.
The twink - ling stars
Or lin - gers in
their trem - bling light Like
the shad - ed bow'r To
i
H
beau - ty's eves dis - play,
hear the nfght - bird's song.
Then sleep no more,
Then sleep no more,
tho5
tho'
.*
round thy heart Some ten - der dream may i - dly play, For
round thy heart Some ten - der dream may i - dly play, For
ritard.
ad lib.
iE^-J*-
J' J t • (I
mid-night song, with ma - gic art, Shall chase that dream a - way.
mid-night song, with ma - gic art, Shall chase that dream a - way.
ROSLIN CASTLE.
THB following sweet old Scottish song was a great favorite in this country in earlj
days. The words were written by RICHARD HEWIT, a native of Cumberland, England. He
was employed as an amanuensis by Dr. Thomas Blacklock, the blind poet, who was the
first to encourage Bobert Burns, and later he became secretary to Lord Wilton. He died
in 1764.
EOS LIN CA8TLE.
265
James Oswald, who made a volume entitled "A Collection of Scots Tunes/' and gave
among them many of his own, was long supposed to have composed this one, although in
the collection it lacked the asterisk by which he designated his own. It has since been
discovered in a book which was old in Oswald's day, under the title " The House of Glams."
Koslin Castle stands on the banks of the river Esk, a few miles from Edinburgh.
1. 'Twas in the sea - son of the year, When all things gay and
2. A - wake, sweet Muse ! the breath - ing spring With rapt - ure warms, a-
S
m
4T EJiuerN
sweet appear, That Co - lin, with the morn - ing ray, A - rose and sung his
-wake and sing ; A - wake and join the vo - cal throng, Who hail the morn-ing
^
i
%
I
*
m
li
ru - ral lay : Of Nan - nie's charms the shep-herd sung, The hills and dales with
with a song ! To Nan - nie raise the cheer- f ul lay ; Oh ! bid her haste and
mM
I
Nan - .nie
come a
rung; While Ros - lin cas - tie
way: In sweet - est smiles her
heard the swain, And
self a - (lorn. And
266
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
cheer -ful strain,
to the morn.
O hark, my love ! on every spray,
Each feathered warbler tunes his lay;
Tis beauty fires the ravished throng,
And love inspires the melting song.
Then let my raptured notes arise,
For beauty darts from Nannie's eyes,
And love my rising bosom warms,
And fills my soul with sweet alarms.
O come, my love ! thy Colin's lay
With rapture calls ; O come away !
Come, while the Muse this wreath shall twine
Around that modest brow of thine.
O ! hither haste, and with thee bring
That beauty, blooming like the spring,
Those graces that divinely shine,
And charm this ravished heart of mine !
COUNTY GUY.
" COUNTY GUY" is a little song by SIR WALTER SCOTT, set to an air of MOZART'S.
rO — T» — N — i — I iv
— d t-H55
V- p^ k-l — f1^ 1 K 1
gkfr K J
~* 1-
H — -4-
'- — • m
— -j — J J —
g I ; — 4 i
stun *
» »
£ 4
S c
t m * »
«. mp
1. O Coun - ty
2. The vil - lage
i \
Guy, the hour is nigh, The sun has left the
maid steals through the shade, Her shep - herd's suit to
+-+••+ +•+-+•-•-+-+• ,
— » — — b—
— !• F-
-f — F P
— i ' —
l
^ — tJ O
5~~
L_
— L^j F
~^~~ ~lr~
-1
L L
i
" n I/
I*
r *
*
9 r
-
l/i i/ i /
u^y | ^— - — |
^n
[_j J j
— iM
[••fj Jv -?**— j^-
rPI-^^
— IV-
BE
~^—rd 1
T;
jea Th
B
or - ange flow'r per - fumes the bow'r, The breeze is on
beau - ty shy, by lat - tice high, Sings high-born ca
rp f f ?•/,? r f .r f =£
ITI
the
- va-
hear;.... To
^f=^
S-^J-
[> ^ 1
-f f — U
_!!!•! — k * 1
j
^-t—t-
— H
-Her';.
lark his
star of
lay
love,
who trill'd all day, Sits hush'd, his part - ner
all stars a - bove, Xow reigns o'er earth and
COUNTY GUY.
267
nigh ; Breeze, bird, and flow'r, con - fess the hour, But where is Coun - ty
sky; And high and low the influence know, But where is Coun - ty
-£-
Guy?
Guy?
THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.
THE following song was suggested to its author, THOMAS MOORE, by a visit, in the sum-
mer of 1807, to the romantic spot in the county Wicklow, where the waters of the Avon
and the Avoca are blended.
The air, which is called " The Old Head of Dennis," was an especial favorite with
Moore.
1. There is not
2. Yet it was
in the wide world a val - ley so sweet,
not that Na - ture had shed o'er the scene,
As that
Her
j
vale in
pu - rest
whose bo - som
of crys - tal
the
and
bright wa - ters meet; Ohl the
bright - est of green; 'Twas
S
last rays of feel - ing and life must de - part,
not her soft ma - gic of streamlet or hill,
Ere the bloom of that valley shall
Oh 1 no — it was something more
;ti=*ri=S3
.jis_s_J.|3_j.«.td
¥tt'^~~Z2*
^3=3:
OUR FAMILIAB SONQ&
fade from my heart, Ere the bloom of that val -ley shall fade from my heart,
ex-qui-site still, Oh! no- it was something more ex-qui-site still.
-^-i
r — •=£
E =t
There is not in the wide world a valley so
sweet,
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters
meet;
Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must
depart,
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my
heart.
Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the
scene,
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green ;
'Twas not her soft magic of streamlet or hill,
Oh! no — it was something more exquisite still.
'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom,
were near,
Who made every dear scene of enchantment more
dear,
And who felt how the best charms of nature
improve,
When we see them reflected from looks that we love.
Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest
In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love bes^
Where the storms that we feel in this cold world
should cease,
And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in
peace.
FOR THE SAKE O' SOMEBODY.
ROBERT BURNS wrote these verses, all but a line or two, which belonged to a very
indifferent old Jacobite song. The air to which they are now sung is called "The
Highland Watch's Farewell."
l£isE
I — ^ ds * -N f^ S-
f^*3-?- -*-*—= — b~ -^— « — a-5- - — v— *- ^— tf — £ 3-5-H
l.My heart is sair, I daur - na tell, My heart is sair for some - bo-<ly;
2. Ye pow'rs that smile on vir - tuous love, OI sweet -ly smile on some - bo-dy;
(. ^ , 1 1 i 1 — i 1 ' 1
— ^
^ _
W^ »_/ 7
• « i t —
m «i* • S
P* "*
)'~C" *
—ft F F F
-F F .
— 1 -M
? .
r-
— »— *
'
I could wake a win - ter night, For the sake o' some - bo-dv. Oh hon, for some - bo -dv !
Frae ilka dan -ger keep him free, And send me safe my some - bo-dy. Oh hon, for some -bo-dy!
FOR THE SAKE 0" SOMEBODY.
269
*r* * „ _^rj .^ ^
^— 3=T< -,s=f :
-^s
! J *
- 5 iv ^
L "•-• ^ ' JVJ
*• 1 1
«/ **
Oh hey, for some - bo -dy !
Oh hey, for some - bo -dy !
I could range the world around,
I wad do— what wad I not,
R ~^— 3— $3
* ^ • 0
For the sake o' some -
For the sake o' some -
_j -J .
bo -dy.
bo -dy.
fe=f=i=-*—
-+ J m
^ •<*
i — i 1 1 —
C^j-g — 9 — •
— l 1 1
H
EzEl L ^— — — '
; ,' . '. . j
-« — — 4 —
._L J
+ T~\ — n — !~i 1 — r
^E^fe^i
J- -f- g, , •*• •*•
H5 S ^ S r~^ *2 —
_p ^ 44^ { ^f m —
MAID OF ATHENS.
LORD BYRON wrote these stanzas while in Athens. The lady who inspired them
was Theresa Maori, daughter of the English vice-consul, celebrated for her beauty. She
afterwards married an Englishman named Black, who resided in her native city. In $i
note appended to the poem, Byron says : " The closing line of each stanza, Zofy /*oD,
ads a^aTTto, is a Eomaic expression of tenderness. If I translate it, I should affront the
gentlemen, as it may seem that I suppose they could not; and if I do not, I may affront
the ladies. For fear of any misconstruction on the part of the latter, I shall do so, begging
pardon of the learned. It means, l My life, I love you !' which sounds very prettily in all
languages, and is as much in fashion in Greece at this day, as Juvenal tells us the two
first words were amongst the Eoman ladies, whose erotic expressions were all Heilen-
ized." He says the line in the third stanza which reads :
" By all the token-flowers that tell,"
refers to a custom in the East (where ladies cannot write), of exchanging sentiments by
means of flowers.
Lord Byron was born in London, January 22, 1788, and died at Missolonghi, Greece,
April 19, 1824.
The music for the "Maid of Athens" was composed by ISAAC NATHAN, who was born
in Canterbury, England, in 1792. He was intended for the Jewish priesthood, and was
carefully educated, but turned his attention to music, and soon became a favorite composer
of both secular and sacred works.
..f is^r£ • •*?• '„,
j 1
s — i
w
--T^r*=y=»— ^ —
• f, J. H- .« J
•*••'» 3—
3: ^ * — ^
1. Maid of Ath -ens,
2. By those tress - es,
'ere w
un - coi
3 part,
i - fined,
-* f : L^~~t? —
Give, oh, give me
Woo'd by each
—m~~~— -^— -tt
^3—
back my heart!
^E -gean wind;
3"> * *
ini
* *
[-J-
-:-H^3=
— h -*•
-i f-1-
t5- EBt
^^ ^^
_j * — = —
\-r~T\\ 3d
** ?~
?^- =^^
-> O 1 i 7 _
B
i 7 '
m • i 7
J i_! !
270
OUK FAMILIAE
r$rr — ! — i* — r*i i
-» f • wrr.
. — ^ K ••••• S
-| s 8 1
I T " —
*
Or
By
— * — 2~< -;. . \. ! —
since that has left my breast,
those lids whose jet - ty fringe,
," •*— -> •* i ** ^
Keep it now and take the rest !
Kiss thy soft cheek's blooming tinge ; By
- ^n^ — ^— j is^— ; — ""^ 1
pi
t ' 9 . t— *
1
3*" 3^
tT '*
*' y
* — *• — r
TT
^— -1 1
1 »— 9 —
-*-t*i~ 9 « :
2-
_L^_ —
=£=m id|— r^
,""^| N
» • — *• • *
fe2_* * 1- {3 ^f-« 1 —
Hear mv vow be - fore I go,
those wild eyes, like the roe.
_j !
Hear. hear,
like the
3 * g
hear,
roe,
!^f~
±i==E=^
tjr*-^—-
^r— ±-
/^H
1
1
1 *! • * •
S r-
.- - »•--•
— % —
fc- • *^
1 '
•*• ^—
f^*:
hear my vow be - fore T go:
By those wild, eyes like the roe,
My
My
life,
life,
life,
life,
IT 41 S—
love you, I love you, My life, my
love you, I love you, My life, my
— , S
— — -— — ^^* — — is | m +-
^^P=^=3E^^g
-s •--
=l=y
life
life
love you.
love you.
— i
3^EE^
*— *~ 1— 1~
Hear my vow
By those eyes,
g^^=^= ^a=g=^eiit~T~ ^=EB
^ l^g^-" rtr*^/— fr ^—^—^ — ^ . ^=g==H
be - fore I go : My life, my life, I love you.
like the roe, My life, my life, I love you.
~^J^_ It— ^^^ TT ^ ' "— t
^^ — '- ^^- ^^^M~^ '
J+- J+- £ '•
MAID OF ATHENS.
271
-0—fi—0—
^J i^— L__
3. By that lip, I long to taste;
4. Maid of Ath-ens, I am gone;
£-*- --
By that zone en - cir - cl'd waist ; By
Think of me, sweet, when a - lone.
all ine to - ken - flow'rsthat tell What words can nev - er speak so well; By
Thouga I fly to Is - tarn - bol, Ath - ens hold my heart and soul ;
:q— J=:Q
^ m
love's al - ter - nate joy and woe,
Can I cease to love .... thee ?
joy-
no,
. .. and woe,
no, no 1
By
TZ1*ZT= —»*— 1
fa==l
nif__ — — 0,- —
V=^0 pr
love's al - ter - nate
Can I cease to
joy and woe, My
love thee? no! My
m i ~ i
T~ EE
i^Li-l
Ol'l! FAMILIAR SONGS.
~=* -* 1 * i ••*
love's si - ter - nate joy and woe. My life, my life, love you.
Can I cease to love thee?no! My life, my life, I love you.
Maid of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh give me back my heart!
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest ?
Hear my vow before I go,
Zairj /jidtj fftit; dfa7ta>.
By those tresses, unconfined,
Wooed by each ^Egean wind ;
By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheek's blooming tinge;
By those wild eyes, like the roe,
Zanj fjLou ff
By that lip I long to taste ;
By that zone-encircled waist;
By all the token-flowers that tell
What words can never speak so well ;
By love's alternate joy and woe,
IJLOO ffdi;
Maid of Athens ! I am gone :
Think of me, sweet ! when alone,
Though I fly to Istambol,
Athens holds my heart and soul ;
Can I cease to love thee ? No !
Zanj fj.ou ffdf
O NANNIE, WILT THOU GANG WT ME?
THOMAS PERCY, author of " Nannie, wilt Thou Gang wi' Me," was born at Bridgenorth,
Shropshire, England, April 13, 1728. He became ch;.plain-in-ordinary to the king, and
afterward Bishop of Dromore, in the county Down, !i-eland. His greatest literary work
was the "Keliques of English Poetry." He gathered estrays with infinite pains, and
touched up all those which had hopelessly missing lines and other blemishes. He became
totally blind, and died at Dromore, September 30, 1811.
THOMAS CARTER, who composed the air of " Nannie, wilt Thou Gang wi; Me," was
born in Ireland in 1768. He received his musical education in Italy, and was a singer,
pianist, and composer. Once, being terribly cramped for money, he set Handel's signature
upon a manuscript of his own, and sold it for a large sum. The piece still passes as a genu-
ine production of the great musician's. Carter died in 1804.
Nan - nie, wilt thou gang wi> me, Nor sigh
to leave the
O NANNIE, WILT THOU GANG WP ME?
273
flaun-tingtown? Can si -lent glens have charms for thee, The low - ly cot, And
±j=Fz=f
PNF
^^fcEtEE*
* i
!
•*
-I-
-&-*-
-t?*f — F-+-
r-tt— r-*-
-rV
ll-fcXC-^-C;^;
,- Sr» V ==N— m 0
^-<_* f • «_ 'jri=fr*bg^f zfz=t=»:
US^=b— r^=±£E=zi^=^= - fi£:
^^
rus- set gown? No long - er drest in silk - en sheen, No long - er deck'd with
—i^z
-0 -9
=r— E=b=
e
•^f1*
— =?
•*- *.
J2.
*^
H
fe-#-* — £—?—'* — ?~|f*"~ F^:s7----h:T=7-''~»~' ^-^h^--*-*-*7171^— ?— ^hj1—
jew - els rare, Say, canst thou quit each court - ly scene, Where tho
£,--!-
- els rare, Say, canst thou quit each court - ly scene, Where thou wert fair - est
I I
3;
-* — *-
~f=f-r-
=*3
*-j
3t=5:
of tlie fair? Say, canst thou quit each court - ly scene, Where
.^— "^ ^ ^"» „_ _^-
thou wert fair - est of the fair? Where thou wert fair - est, where
~^=r=\- =^
TO — 1 1 1 . • =—• _ • J.
^^^^^f=^HEf=3=f^^^^:=^-*
^? ^ r * ' •*•
1>
(IS)
274
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
O Nannie, wilt thou gang wi' me,
Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town ?
Can silent glens have charms for thee,
The lowly cot and russet gown?
No longer drest in silken sheen,
No longer decked with jewels rare,
Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
O Nannie, when thou'rt far awa,'
Wilt thou not cast a look behind?
Say, canst thou face ihe flaky snaw,
Nor shrink before the winter wind?
Oh, can that soft and gentle mien
Severest hardships learn to bear,
Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene
Where thou were fairest of the fair ?
O Nannie, canst thou love so true,
Through perils keen wi' me to go ?
Or when thy swain mishap shall rue,
To share with him the pang of woe ?
Say, should disease or pain befall,
Wilt thou assume the nurse's care,
Nor, wistful, those gay scenes recall,
Where thou were fairest of the fair?
And when at last thy love shall die,
Wilt thou receive his parting breath?
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,
And cheer with smiles the bed of death?
And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay
Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear;
Nor then regret those scenes so gay
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
NEAR THE LAKE.
GEORGE P. MORKIS was the author of the words of the following song. The music was
arranged by CHARLES EDWARD HORN, from a Southern negro melody which was sung to
stanzas beginning —
" Way down in the raccoon hollow,"
The melody was arranged first as a glee for four voices, to be sung by negro minstrels to
the inspiring words, " As I was gwine down Shin-bone alley," and it took a genius like
Horn's to think of subduing it to a sweet and plaintive song.
/kfr 41 — rf— r d2 a
— d-
•
r^ ^~
5 — «H—
• • «i <
KB 4 S : i *
— -.
^— •
m— —
~V~ ~~J F~
— w
1.
2.
3.
J3EB
Near the lake where drooped the wil - low.
Dwelt a maid be- loved and cher-ished
Rock, and tree, and flow • ing wa- ter,
While to my fond words she list - ened,
Min - gled were our hearts for - ev - er,
To her grave these tears are giv - en,
»-! -* — «H — i— -£ — £^-
i V
Long time a
By high and
Long time a
Mur - mur - ing
Long time a
Ev - er to
if r c i
go!
low;
go!
low;
go!
flow I
^ .
— b— t
i r : \
H E
1
Where the rock threw back the bil - low,
But with au - tumn's leaf she per- ished,
Bird, and bee, and bios - som, taught her
Ten - der - ly her dove - eyes glis- tened,
Can I now for - get her? nev - erl
She's the star I missed from hea - ven,
Bright
Long
Love's
Long
No,
Long
- er
time
spell
time
lost
time
than
a
to
a
one,
a
snow!
go !
kno-v,
go'
no!
go I
t
&
BLUE-EYED MARY.
BLUE-EYED MARY.
275
So far as the words are concerned, this very well-known song is "without friends or
home." The music was an old German convivial song for four voices.
1. "Come, tell me, blue - eyed stran
2. Come here, I'll buy thy flow
ger, Say, whith - er dost thou
ers, And ease thy hap - less
m
g=^
-U '-"
roam?-
lot;..
m
O'er this wide world a ran
Still wet with ver - nal show
ger, Hast thou no friends, no
ers, I'll buy for- get - me-
£3
1 X
home? " They call'd me, blue- eyed Ma
-not. " Kind sir, then take these po
ry, "When friends and for- tune
sies, — They're fad - ing, like my
smiled ; But, ah I how for- tunes va - ry I — I now am Sor - row's child."
youth; But nev - er, like these ros - es, Shall with - er Ma - ry's truth 1"
276
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
" Kind sir, then take these posies,
They're fading like my youth ;
But never, like these roses,
Shall wither Mary's truth.
u Born thus to weep my fortune, '
Though poor, I'll virtuous prove;
I early learned this caution,
That pity is not love.
Look up, thou poor forsaken,
I'll give thee house and
And if I'm not mistaken,
Thou'lt never wish to roam.
" Once more I'm happy Mary,
Once more has fortune smiled;
Who ne'er from virtue vary,
May yet be fortune's child."
THE ROSE THAT ALL ARE PRAISING.
" THE Bose that all are Praising " was written by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY, and set to
music by EDWARD J. LODER, a well-known English musician and composer. His father
was a celebrated musical leader and tenor singer in London. The son was born in 1817,
and died in 1865.
JLt/j L*L_
—1 £ i £-
i N
-r P^ —
S~|
1 S — |
. : ~m~\
ys i -s 9 — i — • — $-. — 4 — jt—
\ u
1. The rose that all are prais - ing, Is
2. The gem a king might cov - et Is
3. Gay birds in cag - es pin - ing, Are
£y-fi • 0 0 » — r f —
not the rose for
not the gem for
not the birds for
r* -\ 1
D
II
n
-4 f- 5-1
ie ; Too
ie ' The
• m 1
.* ~f ' ~\
2:S3
S —
Ez — E * —
-*— -
i 1
• .i
\
\ ,
t=$=*
__L
— !=b— i-1
te
"1 N 1 K— i
4 1 1 r_
H 1 jfc
| -H •** _S-
.—---_---—-
^~l
ma - ny eyes are
dark - ness who would
plumes so bright - ly
,.- * * f f
ty. • 0 • — • —
1 ,/
gaz - ing, Up
move it, Save
shin - ing, Would
r""1 — • — w~\
S- S it S =
• on the cost - ly
that the world may
fain fly off from
i — * * * * — i
; 1 1 ;
9 . - *
tree • B
J
ut
ut
ut
*-
see • B
thee • B
V
tx ' »_ — 1
f • 1 lU—
i i w ~ f ' ' i*
1 1 j_ j U 1
--{-^^ ~',j
* —
te
"•
a
• m
H
M
-H —
1 -m
r==j~~
S—
=*'=^
3 E3
^— ^*~ ^H
§L-S S—S S-J
there's a rose in
I've a gem that
I've a bird that
••••»•••••••
f)«L
3i — -s — > — > — » — * — »~* "
yon - der glen, That shuns the gaze of
shuns dis - play, And next my heart worn
gai - ly sings, Though free to rove, she
,_£_ *. r r f r-—*- r
oth - er men; For
ev' - ry day, So
folds her wings, For
•*-•••••*- •*-
11^ \> » —i* i ,.•
- —
_| <_ 1
•• — i
-;
-* —
— I 1 — J
:g==r
me its bios - som rais
dear - ly do I love
me her flight re - sign
ing, Oh! that's the rose for me;.
it; Oh! that's the gem for me;.
Ing, Oh! that's the bird for me;.
Oh!
Oh!
Ohf
THE ROSE THAT ALL ARE PRAISING.
27?
I^P'1 ~t * * -
» • it •'* i
• i — i *- •*..- « •
* • i
—41
that's the rose for
that's the gem for
that's the bird for
~f-g M*
me Oh I
nr~ ^*~
that's the rose for
that's the rose for
that's the bird for
me Oh 1
me ...... Oh I
1 ; 1 1 p
Z b 1
?=
i r ir
lx i -
,j
1 H
'TWERE VAIN TO TELL THEE ALL I FEEL.
THE words of this song were written by J. AUGTJSTTJS WADE, an Englishman, who was
born in 1800, and died in London in 1875. He enjoyed in his day considerable reputation
as a song- writer and composer, but in his last years he was extremely poor, and went
begging among the music-publishers.
These verses were set by F. STOCKHATJSEN, to a favorite Swiss air, which has probably
kept them in memory. Stockhausen has composed many melodies.
A *t
. h
1
h
is
Ejfcza N h.
\
B
1 *
J — -
a
\ '
S
P
N ""
XL ft '* N ft
j
L
1 1
i
J
N
J
!
(m 4 J — J — •
J :
-0
!• *—
-J 1
1
•
i—
* N N j ' n *
— £ — £ —
1. 'Twerevain to tell thee all I
2. Thou'stoft-en called my voice a
-*- • -*--*-
' r^ — I
feel,....
bird's,...
Or say for
Whose mu - sic,
thee I'd die, or say for
like a spell, whose mu-sic,
f- K N -
r
r
|
j j
• f
^
• U
L •
^
IE *
^ ft 4 r — P — P
p
- — P—
-P—
"
s
J 2—
1
i =*— v f f
L_J
^ — t^_J
1
| ' J
4
j y
•r *^u- P^
k
i
^
r «
s
"s
N
P
^
f
3s I
J «-
P1
v
ifh ^ r r
j
1
* A
m L
*
•
f 1
« fla "T
§
Q
! "
\?\) J
I
<
—Js • «
r
•
3
F •
* 1
* *** J
y^
j
j J i ^ * - P~C
thee I'd die ; I find that words will but con
like a spell, Could change to rapt • ure e'en the
TJV;D * • * — i— 1 • — i
- ceal
words
What my
Of our
f r-
soul wou
slow an
t^* *.
Id wish to
I sad fare-
*
~i — t
— t fc—
-€
~~v^~
-t— ~
B*-
-]—
L^-
^ r ~r \^
-^H^
r r
— E
-B--
^ • •
-J-
3E
3
3
-w~ w * ~^r~ ^
sigh. Ah,well-a-day! the sweet-est mel - b - dy Could nev- er, nev -er say one half my love for
-well. But, ah,well-a-day ! the sweetest mel - o - dy Could nev- er, nev - er say one half my love for
-«-_«--« 0 J> ^C_ ->•-
thee, for thee, Then let me si- lent-ly re - veal What my soul would wish to see.
i
278
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
THE CARRIER PIGEON.
THE author of the following song, JAMES GATES PERCIVAL, an American poet, was bora
at Berlin, Connecticut, September 15, 1795. He was educated at Yale College, and studied
medicine in Philadelphia. He left its practice for literary pursuits, but in later life he was
assistant-surgeon in the army, and Professor of Chemistry at the West Point Military
Academy. He was afterward an army-surgeon in Boston. He was sent with a scientific
exploring party to Wisconsin, where he died, May 2, 1857.
The music of ''The Carrier Pigeon" was adapted from an Irish air, by P. K. MORAN,
one of the earliest music-teachers in New York city. He composed many airs of similar
character.
1. Come hi-therthou beau - ti -ful ro
2. Here is bread of the whit - est and sweet
3. I have fasten'd it un - der thy pin
ver, Thou wand'rer of earth and of
est, And there is a sip of red
- ion, With a blue rib - bon round thy soft
^___ «__ _^^_ __••
t, — I ~«» «« — ~i — «< i a
=«=g= =5=-«=I=jt=tl =S=
r-5
?• -*•
n
fc fc
i J .s
TJ
S m \
J^_ K • »
» *~
9 0 rf •
t
i i 1
rcB *~^ *
i * i i
__1 ,,
i L« 1 —
air,
wine:
neck;
> k ^ ^ ^
Wlio bear - est the sighs of a
Tho' thy wing is the light - est and
So, go from me, beau - ti - ful
,^_^_
lov - - ver, and
fleet - - est, 'Twill be
rain • ion, While the
^^_ — •-»
fly 7 J^ 1 9—
-< — i — '
-r=;- -F^— '
r~i — i~
** ^
1 "i
r^
i *-
41 " ^~
— I? b
— i — i —
« * ^ *
y k » — ? — ? — ^ — ^~
ES&.
S ^ S *» ,K •
v-tt b ^ ^ t* - * : *"k
bring -est him news of his fair;
fleet- er when nerv'd by the vine;
pure eth - er shows not a speck ;
1 f .r v * .. —m —0 9- -
Bend hi - ther thy light wav - ing
I have writ - ten on rose - scent - ed
Like a cloud in the dim dis - tanc^
— « 9- 1 ! « ! — j
P '^-^
J^*
=^ :
= 4— -j 1 J— ^--i
— f= *— — 9 1
1 f :::: * _ — '
* — g
1 —
-9 * 1 *
. 1>
THE CARRIER PIGEON.
N ^
279
pin - ion,
pa - per,
fleet - ing,
And show me the
With thy wing a
Like an ar - row he
gloss of thy neck;
soft bil - let - doux,
hur -riea & - way;
Oh,
I have
And
perch on my hand, dear -est min
melt-ed the wax in love's tap
farth -er and f arth-er re - treat
ion, And turn up thy bright eye and peck.
er, 'Tis the col - or of true hearts, sky blue,
ing, He is lost in the clear blue of day.
THE BLUE JUNIATA.
BOTH words and music of the following song were written by MRS. M. D. STJLLIYAN.
tti^ — f — r~f r
Cay 4 i « — J — J PN -m— AT-
7^-^
^=?=+
EE^
^LL =E_| £ 1 _J. j — (2 1 «T
1. Wild roved an In - dian girl, Bright
2. Gay was the mount-ain song Of bright
Al - fa - ra - ta, Where sweep the
Al - fa - ra - ta, Where sweep the
( v\^~^^ — f — ^ ~ 1 ^ —
J 3~
— =1 1 1 —
I \M/ *T fl • fl M * M
IZ3I *
4 « 0 __
e i
( /jyV g J J «
1* *
J .__!
*i i * ^*
C±3rT 1 S — • «l • - £
i^LJ L^_ L_J_
\j$\i h L ^-^1 hi 1 -N
J ' 1
1 J J f .1
LJ_ j—
^ — M
wa - ters Of the blue Ju - ni - a
wa - ters Of the blue Ju - ni - a
- ta.
- ta.
-1 ^— ? — '^ ' i r
P P
Swift as an an - te- lope,
Strong and true my ar-rows are,
f j jr P-l^
( TO h ^ T 1 ^ , 1' ., 1 .U
***
2
T~^ 1 ~ _l ' 1 1 ' J
________
— Ty
J =3
280
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
tt\t r
m
:*=£
Thro' the for - est go - ing,
In my paint-ed quiv - er,
Loose were her jet - ty locks, In wa - vy tress - es
Swift goes my light ca - noe A - down the rap - id
-r— H *
3-
3
flow - ing.
riv - er.
£
Bold is my warrior good,
The love of Alfarata,
Proud waves his snowy plume,
Along the Juniata.
Soft and low he speaks to me,
And then his war-cry sounding,
Rings his voice in thunder loud,
From height to height resounding.
So sang the Indian girl,
Bright Alfarata,
Where sweep the waters
Of the blue Juniata.
Fleeting years have borne away
The voice of Alfarata,
Still sweeps the river on,
Blue Juniata.
WHAT WILL YOU DO, LOVE?
BOTH the words and the music of this song were written by SAMUEL LOVER, for his
entertainment called " Irish Evenings."
1. "What will you do, love, when I am go - ing, With white sail flow -ing, The seas be-
2. "What would you do, love, if dis-tant tid - ings, Thy fond con - fid - ings Should under-
3. "What would you do, love, when home re -turn - ing, With hopes high burning, With wealth for
WHAT WILL YOU DO, LOVE?
281
i
s \
Z3E — j— -f-j-
K- -N- 1- 3
to±_J ' j • ?—?--£ I r~ * ii ' * " 1* J— --p-qi^jg
TV*//. "CT?^
-yond? What will you do, love, when waves di - vide us, And friends may chide us for be -ing
-mine? And I a- bid- ing 'neath sul -try skies, Should think oth-er eyes were as bright as
you, If my bark,\vhich bound'd o'er foreign foam, Should be lost near home — Ah I what would you
*J *n"*
0 * * -*—
— « 1 J ! w j J ! - 1 | '
L~3r* 5^* 5 3rL^-*—5r--* J.
^ «^**__
— 1 N 1
^•*J. *-r 1 *-
-&~ 0 ^
i *-? * *-..*- ^ r
1 P *
*— ,—
I
Eq
— j-— -
^
- -s
_-.„
~z^~
— *—
- 0
1^
-?-
-» —
•f-
'— *
fond?""Tho' waves di - vide us and friends be chid - ing, In faith a - bid - ing, I'll still be
thine?" "Oh, name it not I.... tho' guilt and shame Were on thy name, I'd still be
do?" "So thou wert spar'd, I'd bless the mor-row, In want and sor - row, that left me
true, And I'll pray forthee on the stormy o- cean, In deep de - vo - tion — That's what I'll do."
true, But that heart of thine should anoth-er share it, I could not bear it — "What would I do?"
you ! And I'd welcome thee from the wasting bil - low,This heart thy pil - low — That's what I'd do !"
SHE WORE A WREATH OF ROSES.
THE words of this song were written by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY, and the music was
composed by JOSEPH PHILIP KNIGHT.
282
OUR FA MIL I AH SOM1S.
ciy* N s s M
^T /_4- g-
1 .. _» —
Fr* r J* / , fr
** love - ly face was
-pres - eion of her
smil - ing Be- nea
feat - ures Was more thoi
l^
1h her curls of
ight-ful than be -
__^_ p —
— ( — v—
jet; Her
fore; And
— I 3 1 — 1
v V- -+ gy. ^
Ip^-i—
;-
;
-<
3
b i 1 j. i1
9, m> r
N — i — !
I
^
f^ttg • ^J
zf • E
0 0
| J? g^ =-: p~]
3
N -i ST~
-TT-! 9 i
ItJ "!• J
foot - step had the
stand - ing by her
x *Nt tf — •! — •! —
light -ness, Her voiee the joy - ous
side was one Who strove, and not in
J _ ^ • M ^ ^
-*• -tF
tone, The
vain, To
P^. 3. i j-
i? ^
^
- *
1 J J 0^
r« r« F-
'i i i i1
n* r f r-
— = f- f =
1 1 1 — i
__=) c F =)
Rail.
a tempo.
to - kens
soothe her
s of a youth - ful heart Where sor- row is un- known ;
, leav - ing that dear home She ne'er might view a - gain ;
^mlJ J J"^'
saw her but a mo-ment— Yet me- thinks I see her now, With the
saw her but a mo-ment— Yet me- thinks I see her now, With the
IF ~?~~* — S£
-r- -r-
-f *—
^ — fr
~T~n
— i 1 b
~» *
— • 9 —
— J-- — H
wreath of sum - mer
wreath of or - ange
V * "
flow - era Up -
bios - soms Up -
V
on her snow - y
on her snow - y
brow,
brow.
^ * f i
^
t :
P3
0
i
/-J '• —
^
ft*yi2 f., — 2| f
~T — * —
-^f— ' h
— b *i —
J
"*i —
^-^_S_^_^_H
__i 1
SHE WORE A WREATH OF ROSES.
Piu lento e con molto espressione.
283
-ft.
=fc
^
£
— v-
And once a - gain I see that brow, No bri - dal wreath is there, The
/L U * ft P itJ
^ _
r i* W JtJ
H A
KV^ / J . — • — :£*—
-f— — *
r p
-V b — #*—
p
wid- ow's som - bre
cap con
t — 1 -—
ceals Her
-d — j—
L — 1? j^
once lux - u
- rial
It
M —
hair;
1 —
— t
st
,[ 1
e
J -j
— j— 4-4:
"*" Bi£ ~f-
3~~r •-
Hf
^=4=
-f — 1~
* I JL 1
-* > f
^
1 f
-
J . J
M
n
5 — J
i
f^ * g
r * •
— * • —
_j | 1 1 U
i^F-t-r -f—
3
h r ' g— g^=g:
^ 1 — ^ ^ y |J-
weeps in si - lent sol - i- tude, And there is no one near,
i
To
r._f_ y r R* r r r if r "r. P
Rail.
ff
press her hand with - in his own, And wipe a - way the tear;
^ f a tempo. cres.
=5=
see her brok - en - heart - ed! Yet me- thinks I see her now, In the
284
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
=£
pride of youth and beau • ty,
With a gar - land on
her brow.
I'LL HANG MY HARP ON A WILLOW TREE.
THERE is an absurd tradition that this familiar old ballad romance was written by a
nobleman, who had the misfortune to lose his heart for Queen (then Princess) Victoria, and
who poured forth the suicidal song when she received the diadem on her brow.
The music was arranged by WELLINGTON GUERNSEY, who is the author of some charm-
ing songs, set by various composers.
2. She took me a - way from my war - like lord, And gave me a silk - en suit ;
_^_
-*ff
ir
peace - ful home has no charms for me, The bat - tie field no pain ;
thought no more of my mas - ter's sword, When I play'd on my mas - ter's lute ;
The
She
=?= EE«3E--3=-
+^ — ••£^-=V'> •
]*~$7 J «l°vf wil1 soon be a bride, With a di - a - dem on her brow;
seem d to think me a boy a - bove Her pa - ges of low de - gree ;
I'LL HANG MV HARP ON A WILLOW TREE.
285
why did she flat • ter my boy - ish pride, She's go - ing to leave me now, Oh !
had I but lov'd with a boy - ish love, It would have been bet - ter for me, Oh!
!E,^£!
why did she flat - ter my boy - ish pride,
had I but lov'd with a boy - ish love,
She's go - ing to leave me
It would have been bet - ter for
now ! • • •
me
Then I'll hide in my breast every selfish care,
I'll flush my pale cheek with wine,
When smiles awake the bridal pair,
I'll hasten to give them mine ;
I'll laugh and I'll sing, though my heart may bleed,
And I'll walk in the festive train,
And if I survive it, I'll mount my steed,
And I'll off to the wars again.
But one golden tress of her hair I'll twine
In my helmet's sable plume,
And then on the field of Palestine,
I'll seek an early doom ;
And if by the Saracen's hand I fall,
'Mid the noble and the brave,
A tear from my lady-love is all
I ask for the warrior's grave.
THE INDIAN'S DEATH SONG.
THE following song was written by MBS. JOHN HUNTER, wife of the eminent surgeon and
sister of Sir Everard Home. She was born in Scotland, in 1742. She wrote several songs
which Haydn set to music, and her verses were very widely known. This song was exceed-
ingly popular in New England in the beginning of the present century. The author says:
" The idea was suggested several years ago, by hearing a gentleman who had resided many
years ago in America, among the tribe called ' Cherokees/ sing a wild air which he assured
me it was customary for those people to chaunt with a barbarous jargon, implying con-
tempt of their enemies, in the moments of torture and death."
03 h
j N fc
J / ^
1
_J^.
-N-i \~^ M
-J
-is k-i
.// tf— ^j — d —
=H j^ »P~
' —*r
— gj —
T
'^" — tT
i
J
(Co 4- •
901
- J
M — H
— r-l : *—
^ — i
! * —
The
-f-
sun sets at
« "^" ~t
ni,
;ht, and the
f ?• tf
stars sh
un tl
ic day, But
I JL . -*-
«
-
Io - r
•- -4
y re-
L f
* 1* • *
i U 1
| 1*
(^•4 4 i
-r C E-
— B-HT-
*~^ f
-
0 i
r- U
^
-mains when the light fades a - way. Be - gin, ye tor - men - tors, your
F- -f- ' -*-
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
threats are in vam, For "the son of Alk - no - mook shall nev - er com - plain.
m
The sun sets at night, and the stars shun the day
But glory remains when the light fades away ;
Begin, ye tormenters, your threats are in vain.
For the son of Alknomook shall never complain.
Remember the arrows he shot from his bow,
Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low;
Why so slow ? do you wait till I shrink from my pain?
No ! the son of Alknomook shall never complain.
Remember the wood where in ambush we lay,[a\vay;
And the scalps which we bore from your nation
Now the flame rises fast, you exult in my pain,
But the son of Alknomook shall never complain.
I'll go to the land where my father is gone.
His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son;
Death comes like a friend to relieve me from pain ;
And thy son,O Alknomook! has scorn'd to complain.
O, BOYS, CARRY ME 'LONG!
THIS is one of the " Plantation melodies " of STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER.
and music are by him. It was produced in 1851.
Moderate.
1. Oh!
2. All
3. Fare -
4. Fare -
car - ry me
o - ber de
well to de
well to de
'long;
land.,
bovs,.
hil'ls,.
Der's no more trou-ble for me;...
I've wan - derM ma-ny a day,..
Wid hearts so hap - py and light, .
De mead-ows cov -ered wid green,.
I's
To
aruine to roam
blow de horn
sing a song
In a hap-pv
And mindae
De whole day
home, Where all de
corn, And keep de
long, And dance de
nig - gas am free. .
pos -sum a - way.
fu - ba at
I've
brin -die Boss, And de old grey -boss, All beat- en, brok-en and lean
worked long in
No use for
Faro - well to
Fare - well to
de
me
de
de
fields ;
now,..
fields.
I've hand - led man - y a
So, dar - kies, bu - ry me
Ob cot - ton. 'bac -co, and
Dat al - ways followed me
hoe ;
low;
all;
round;-...
I'll
My
I's
Old
OH, BOYS, CAREY ME 'LONG!
N K
287
r-T
turn my eye, Be - fore I die, And see de gu - gar-cane grow,
horn is dry, And I must lie, Wha de pos - sum neb-ber can go....
guine to hoe, In a bress - ed row, Wha de corn growa mel -low and tall . .
San - cho'll wail. And droop his tail, When I am un -der de ground.
TT~f~f -j — ?=
7 — ^ 4 — ~~at '* * — '
— * * — £^ii=^
Car - ry me down to de bu - ry - in' groun', Mas - sa,
HS N___£ ^
2=^=4=4:
— 9 *
MASSA'S IN THE COLD, COLD GROUND.
THIS also is one of Foster's " Plantation Melodies," set to one of his characteristically
plaintive melodies. It was written in 1852.
Poco lento. By special permission of Messrs. OLIVKB DITSON & Co.
y-ttfcT— P N v
p
^4
1
1
J^~
ffk S<* ' • * J— -^ N-
— P —
f 1 f
-V
— -
N-
!•
H2
t
I
*
g •
1. Round de mead-ows am a
2. When de au- tumn leaves are
3. Mas - sa make de dark-eys
ring
fall
love
V 0
- ing, De dark-ey's mourn - ful
ing, When de days are
him, Cayse he was so
j—\ 3 1 1 fc
song,
cold,
kind,
1
'Twas
1 M
n/ » i
i)
P^
•>*
s»
HJ
-«
^t
-4
,-^<
u -0
•a
r
L
M
— \—
**1
^••^ — |
-75k-
S
"Sir
288
OUB FAMILIAR SONGS.
tQj^^-^r^-jr-;^^
r? xi
— ^ N r — I — x* — r
— f<— ~r- -^«—
While de mock-ing bird am
hard to hear old mas - sa
Now, dey sad- ly weep a -
P K
smg - ing, Hap- py as de day am long,
call - ing, Cayse he was so weak and old.
bove him, Mourning cayse he leave dem be- hind. I
-> J J J T» i — BS r-i-
f ffjOy — — ^" —
"III
>*
Vx *
-ts> — — ^-
& &• 1
-j — j- — — | — — _ — ^
Where de i - vy am a creep - ing
Now do or- ange trees am bloom - Ing
can- not work be -fore to - mor - row,
O'er the grass - y mound,
On de sand - y shore,
Cayse de tear - drop flow, I
/ J^ Jfr " 1 I
3E
__ 1 — — | — __j _ 1 —
-0- -0- -0-
- d • « — — a| f a| — - — — — * m m —
* + * ^ ~i i- iii
i f(^)^S J
I ^p^ft — fi| — — 5$ —
— & — — s£—
> i
&\ •
-&•
^ — s»
-&- 3
T — N -N — r— — |
L ft J . * j 1 J -^
Dare old mas - sa am a
Now de sum-mer days am
try to drive a - way my
sleep - ing,
com - ing,
sor - row,
Sleep-ing in de cold, cold ground.
Mas - &a neb- ber calls no more.
Pick- in' on de old ban - jo.
Jf fotf rj 1 1 \
—^5 1 1 1-
1 ill
ffh * * J j j
-*— J — i — -j-
— •? — ~J£ ~z •£ — j — •? — 1
^ V f f f
333
C fl C "
«; i i i
4 * *
f. f. -f- -f-
— i r— -£-• — H
E_|_ 1
ntt CHORUS, i st and zd Voices.
I
--^ g -f- M
&' •
' Es "2^"
i^-'f f f ' *) * ' " • i ,1 U : =*=*
Down in de corn - field, Hear dat mourn - ful sound :
/JQ7» fl- 3- E 3 — « 1 E5 — * — ] K
fr-L^-^=ltf= *'- i i i'*.iHH^
^j i '^
rfHJjfT- -^— >
''j
*'|; =^
AH de dark-eys am a
weep - ing,
1 1 |
Mas-sa's in de cold, cold ground.
J3 i i i
*=l i i1
i i 11 fl
* n
^fe
— g| — — J ^ ^^-fl
SONGS OF HOPELESS LOVE,
Ow sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
— Percy Byaahe Shettej.
Death forerunneth Love, to win
Sweetest eyes were ever seen.
— Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the lore she bore ?
No— she never loved me truly, love is love for ever more.
— Alfred Tennyson.
God pity them both ! and pity us all,
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall.
— John Greenleaf Whitttor.
SONGS OF HOPELESS LOVE.
AULD ROBIN GRAY.
GRACE, accomplishments, exquisite sensibility, benevolence, and devotion, all belonged
to the character of LADY ANNE LINDSAY, authoress of " Auld Eobin Gray." She was born
at Balcarres, Fifeshire, Scotland, November 27, 1750, and was "the daughter of a hundred
earls." Her father, at the time of her birth, was the representative of this long line, and
his eldest daughter, Anne, received careful training in all that constituted the finished
education of a gentlewoman of her day. Of course, music formed a large part of her cul-
ture, and she very early wrote rhymes for her favorite airs, which never saw the light. At
the age of forty-three, she married Andrew Barnard, Esq., son of the Bishop of Limerick,
and secretary to the colony of the Cape of Good Hope. She accompanied him thither,
where, after fifteen years of most happy life, her husband died. Lady Anne established
herself with a sister, in a house in Beverly Square, London, where she died, May 6th, 1825.
When Lady Anne was twenty-one, the sister with whom she afterwards lived, married
and removed to London. Lady Anne was very lonely, and to amuse herself she composed
ballads. Her mother had in the house, as attendant, an old woman, who sang the ancient
melodies with fine effect. Among them was one called " The Bridegroom greets when the sun
gangs down." There was also an old herdsman on her father's estate, named Eobin Gray.
In a letter written to Sir Walter Scott, in which she acknowledges her authorship, and gives
the facts we have just recorded, she says : " I called to my little sister, now Lady Hard-
wicke, who was the only person near me, ' I have been writing a ballad, my dear ; I am
oppressing my heroine with many misfortunes ; I have already sent her Jamie to the sea,
and broken her father's arm — and made her mother fall sick — and given her auld
Eobin Gray for a lover, — but I wish to load her with a fifth sorrow within the
four lines, poor thing! Help me to one?' 'Steal the cow, sister Anne/ said the little
Elizabeth. The cow was immediately lifted by me, and the song completed." She showed
it to her mother and family friends under the promise of secrecy, and well did they keep
faith with her ; for, although after the song attained celebrity, her mother was very proud
of it, she contented herself with reciting the words as anonymous to all within her reach.
For fifty years the author's name was unknown to the world in general. She says that at
first she concealed the fact of her being an author at all, " perceiving the shyness it cre-
ated in those who could write nothing." During the time of this concealment, the song
was sung in every corner of Scotland, and soldiers and sailors carried it to India and
America. A romance was founded upon it by an eminent writer ; it was made the subject
of a play, and an opera, and a pantomime : it was claimed by others ; a sequel to it waa
written by some cobbler in rhyme, and it was at once printed as his production.
An intimate friend, who suspected the authorship, said to her, " By the by, Lady
Anne, we have a very popular ballad down in Scotland, which everybody says is by you,
*Auld Eobin Gray/ they call it. Is it yours?"
292 OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
" Indeed," she answered, " I dinna think it was me ; but if it was, it's really sae lang
syne, that I've quite forgot."
A gentleman named Atkinson, who was in love with her before her marriage, was
much older than she, and very rich. He used to say that if Lady Anne would take him as
an "Auld Robin Gray," she might seek for a Jamie after he was gone/
But the anecdote which Lady Anne best enjoyed telling, was this : " I must mention
the Laird of Dalziel's advice, who in a tete-a-tete afterwards, said, ' My dear, the next time
you sing that song, try to change the words a wee bit, and instead of singing " To make
the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea," say "to make it twenty merks," for a Scottish
pound is but twenty pence, and Jamie was na such a gowk as to leave Jenny and gang to
sea to lessen his gear. It is that line (whispered he) that tells me that song was written
bv some bonnie lassie that did na ken the value of the Scots' money quite as well as an
auld writer of the town of Edinburgh would have kent it.'"
The Society of Antiquaries made earnest investigations, and even sent their secretary
to inquire of Lady Anne. She confesses that she should have admitted the authorship
frankly, if the questioner had not tried to entrap her into doing so. She adds that "the an-
noyance of this important ambassador from the antiquaries was amply repaid to me by the
noble exhibition of the « Ballad of Auld Robin Gray's Courtship,' as performed by dancing
dogs, under my window. It proved its popularity from the highest to the lowest, and gave
me pleasure while I hugged myself in obscurity." Her final revelation recalls another
curious literary concealment. A copy of the ballad, in her own handwriting, an account of
its composition, and a sequel which she also wrote, were sent to her friend, Sir Walter
Scott, with permission to "inform his personal friend, the author of Waverley." The sequel
is far inferior to the song, and so Lady Anne knew it to be. She only wrote it, she said,
to gratify her mother, who was always desirous to know how " the unlucky business of
Jeanie and Jamie ended." The sequel never became popular. Scott, in "The Pirate,*'
likens the condition of Mina to that of Jeanie Gray, in the Lady Anne's sequel :
" Nae longer she wept, her tears were a' spent ;
Despair it was come, and she thought it content ;
She thought it content, but her cheek it grew pale,
And she drooped like a snow-drop broKe down by the hail 1 "
Very deep must have been this woman's antipathy to loud-mouthed fame ; for after
she had entrusted Scott with a volume of lyrics written by herself, and others of her bouse,
and they had been printed, and were on the eve of publication, she withdrew her consent.
The book was entitled, "Lays of the Lindsays." It was destroyed, and but a single poem
remains which is known to belong to it. This begins, "Why tarries my love?" and is
attributed to Lady Anne.
While the authoress was "hugging her obscurity," her lines were set to a new air, the
original composition of REY. WILLIAM LEEYES, Rector of Wrington, Somersetshire, Eng-
land, who died in 1828. It was so fine, that it replaced the old one, to which only the first
stanza is now sung, and that is generally omitted altogether. I include both airs.
Andante.
.=£
1. Yonng Ja - mie lo'ed me weel, And sought me for his bride,
2. My fa - ther could - na work — My mith - er could - na spin ;
AULD ROBIN GRAY.
2V3
sav - ing a crown, he had nae-thing else be -side; To make the crown a pound, my
toil'd day and night, but their bread I could -na win; Auld Rob maintained them baith,and,wi'
—0-
— I—
Ja - mie gaed to sea, And the crown aiid the pound were baith for me. He
tears in his e'e, Said "Jenny, for their sakes, will ye no' mar-ryme?" My
-H---«-
-M 0-\ T
_» 1_L_ _| ,_
=*=!&tl
:&*=
—j— ~~rf~ • =*~-
?^=EEEE£E ^P=3=^^^E
had - na beengane a week but on - ly twa, When my fa-ther brake his arm, and our
heart it said na, for I look'd for Ja -mie back ; But the wind blew high, and the
M 1— T * 1 S.
— *— - — ^ Jv-,
con dolore.
E^^^EEg
-r~~-
--W-
cres.
— f- ^~
^E5^st==?=^=
^^
i=^=ftii^z^q:
*33*
--j-H
:-3=3
" T
cow wasstown a-wa; My mith -er she fell sick, and my Ja-mie at the sea, And
ship it was a wrack, The ship it was a wrack I Why did - na Jen -ny dee? Oh,
294
or/,1
auld Ko-bin Gray cam a court -ing me.
why do I live to say, Oh, wae's me.
y_
I *_J-
•* a — -j~ _ix rfz
L j •— ^— ^F-
J » u== — 1=
7=FrP^
| dim.
J- '
Young Jamie lo'ed me weel and sought me for
his bride,
But saving a crown, he had naething else beside ?
To make the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea,
And the crown and the pound were baith for me.
He had na been gane a week but only twa,
When my father brake his arm, and our cow was
stown awa;
My mither she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea,
And auld Robin Gray cam' a courting me.
My father couldna work— my mither couldna spin ;
I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna
win;
Auld Rob maintained them baith, and wi' tears
in his e'e,
Said, "Jenny, for their sakes, will you no marry
me?"
My heart it said na, for I looked for Jamie back;
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a
wrack ;
The ship it was a wrack ! Why didna Jenny dee ?
Oh, why do I live to say, Oh wae's me !
My father argued sair — my mither didna speak.
But she looked in my face till my heart was like
to break ;
They gied him my hand, tho' my heart was at the
sea;
And auld Rohin Gray is gudeman to me.
I hadna been a wife, a week but only four,
When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the
door,
I saw my Jamie's ghaist — I couldna think it he.
Till he said, " I'm come hame, my love, to marr\
thee ! "
Oh sair did we greet, and mickel did we say ;
We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves
away.
I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to
dee ;
Oh why do I live to say, Oh wae's me!
I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin;
I darena think o' Jamie, for that wad be a sin.
But I will do my best a gude wife aye to be ;
For auld Robin Gray is a kind man to me.
AULD ROBIN GRAY.
(OLD MELODY.)
When the sheep are in the f.-mM. and the kye
hame, And
AULD ROBIN GRAY.
:E£j|psE=S
a' the warld to
*— 5-
sleep are gane, The waes o' my heart fa' in
^==33=122
T
SEQUEL TO AULD ROBIN GRAY.
The winter was come, 'twas simmer nae mair,
And trembling, the leaves were fleeing thro' th'
air;
" O winter," says Jeanie, " we kindly agree,
For the sun he looks wae when he shines upon
Nae longer she mourned, her tears were a' spent,
Despair it was come, and she thought it content —
She thought it content, but her cheek it grew
pale,
And she bent like a lily broke down by the
gale.
Her father and mother observed her decay ;
" What ails ye, my bairn ? " they oftimes would say;
"Ye turn round your wheel, but you come little
speed,
For feeble's your hand and silly's your thread."
She smiled when she heard them, to banish their
fear,
But wae looks the smile that is seen through a
tear ;
And bitter's the tear that is forced by a love
Which honor and virtue can never approve.
Her father vras vexed, and her mother was wae,
But pensive and silent was auld Robin Gray ;
He wandered his lane, and his face it grew lean,
Like the side of a brae where the torrent has
been.
Nae questions he spiered her concerning her
health,
He looked at her often, but aye 'twas by stealth :
When his heart it grew grit,* and often he feigned
To gang to the door to see if it rained.
He took to his bed — nae physic he sought,
But ordered his friends all around to be brought;
While Jeannie supported his head in its place,
Her tears trickled down, and they fell on his face.
" Oh, greet nae mair, Jeannie," said he, wi' a
groan,
"I'm no worth your sorrow — the truth maun be
known ;
Send round for your neighbors, my hour it draws
near,
And I've that to tell that it's fit a' should hear.
"I've wronged her," he said, "but I kent it
ower late ;
I've wronged her, and sorrow is speeding my
date;
But a' for the best, since my death will soon free
A faithful young heart that was ill-matched wi'
me.
" I lo'ed and I courted her mony a day,
The auld folks were for me, but still she said
nay;
1 kentna o' Jamie, nor yet of her vow,
In mercy, forgive me — 'twas I stole the cow.
•Great, swollen.
296
OUR FAMILIAR SOXU*.
u I cared not for Crummie, I thought but o' thee —
I thought it was Crummie stood 'twixt you and
me ;
While she fed your parents, oh, did you not say
You never would marry wi' auld Robin Gray ?
" But sickness at hame, and want at the door —
You gied me your hand, while your heart it was
sore ;
I saw it was sore, — why took I her hand ?
Oh, that was a deed to my shame o'er the land !
" How truth soon or late comes to open daylight !
For Jamie cam' back, and your cheek it grew
white —
White, white grew your cheek, but aye true unto
me —
Ay, Jennie, I'm thankfu' — I'm thankfu' to dee.
"Is Jamie come here yet?" — and Jamie they
saw —
" I've injured you sair, lad, so leave you my a' ;
Be kind to my Jeanie, and soon may it be ;
Waste nae time, my dauties.f in mourning for
They kissed his cauld hands, and a smile o'er his
face
Seemed hopefu' of being accepted by grace;
"Oh, doubtna," said Jamie, "forgi'en he will
be-
Wha wouldna be tempted, my love, to win thee ? "
The first days were dowie while time slipt awa'.
But saddest and sairest to Jennie o' a',
Was thinkin' she couldna be honest and right,
Wi' tears in her e'e while her heart was sae light.
But nae guile had she, and her sorrow away,
The wife o' her Jamie, the tear couldna stay ;
A bonnie wee bairn — the auld folks by the fire —
Oh, now she has a' that her heart can desire.
t Darlings.
'TIS SAID THAT ABSENCE CONQUERS LOVE.
FREDERICK WILLIAM THOMAS, author of the words of the song which follows, was born
in Providence, Rhode Island, October 25, 1808. He passed his infancy in Charleston, South
Carolina, and his youth in Baltimore. In 1830, he removed to Cincinnati. Later he re-
moved again to the South. He has been a lawyer, an editor, a professor, a Methodist min-
ister, a librarian, a lecturer, and a stump speaker ; and through and amid all of these call-
ings, he has been a very prolific writer of prose and verse, At the close of the war he was
editing The South Carolinian, at Columbia.
The familiar verses "'Tis said that absence conquers love," appeared about 1830, and
were set to music by E. THOMAS.
1. 'Tis said that ab-sence con-quers love ; But oh, be - lieve it not!
2. I plunge in - to the bu - sy crowd, And smile to hear thy name;
I've
And
tried, a - las! its pow'r to prove,— But thou art not for -got! La-
yet» a* thought a - loud, They know me still the same. And
^
'TIS SAID THAT ABSENCE CONQUERS LOVE.
-*v-
297
-dy, though fate has bid us part, Yet still thou art as dear, As
when the wine- cup pass - es round, I toast some oth - er fair; But
i
i i
fix'd in this de - vot - ed heart, As when I clasp'd thee here,
when I ask my heart the sound, Thy name is ech - oed there.
1
1 1
I
And when some other name I learn,
And try to whisper love,
Still will my heart to thee return,
Like the returning dove.
In vain, I never can forget,
And would not be forgot ;
For I must bear the same regret,
Whate'er may be my lot.
E'en as the wounded bird will seek
Its favorite bower to die,
So, lady, 1 would hear thee speak,
And yield my parting sigh.
'Tis said that absence conquers love ;
But, oh ! believe it not ;
I've tried, alas ! its power to prove
But thou art not forgot.
MARION MOORE.
JAMES G. CLAKK, author of both words and music of the following song, was born in
Constautia, New York, June 28, 1830. His mother was a very fine singer, and was pos-
sessed also of a poetic temperament. Mr. Clark spent much time in roaming amidst the
beautiful scenery about his home, and early began to write simple lyrics, which have trav-
elled throughout the land in the poet's corner of newspapers. He has a fine voice, and
before he could talk ho could carry a simple air correctly. He joined, as musical director,
the concert troupe of Ossian E. Dodge, but in a few years left them, and since that time
has given ballad concerts entirely unassisted. His repertoire comprises many pleasing songs
of which both words and music are his own, and many also for which he has written the
music only. He now resides at Traverse Lake, Minn.
By special permission.
-r-3- -N
>-&- 0 -f -„ —
y
1. Gone art thou,
2. Dear wert thou,
3 I will re -
_l : L — tr 4
i > — ^ — 1—\
Ma - ri - on, Ma
Ma - ri - on, Ma
mem her thee, Ma
ri - on Moore!
ri - on Moore!
ri - on Moore!
— 1. , |._ 1 -J! 1 j i—
~j — \ ", ' ~ — 1
J « j J— i-^_* '
-*— ^ * | 1 J 4—4 — 1 — , — |
*f ' -9- — f ••• — f •*•
Ri^h -*—
L4-^— ~f
— _j , .L_4 A_
_i4=_ -j l—^f=]
E3 — i * *
1 "I A _[_— £3J *
•^ -* * *- ^
OUR FAMILIAR 8ONGS.
l£ — 1 ' — fr 1 p
E~ — f —
1 " ~i
4- «t :
Gone like the bird in the
Dear as the tide in my
I shall re - mem - bcr, a -
t^= i^T j* ' ' g= =d
Aa - tumn that sing - eth,
bro - ken heart throb -bing,
las, to re - gret thee,
(« — • I ' * r~*
kLi_»=.._::* i ^ -• j. ; _pS-
~j — i — '~ — T- -^-
i ^^*
2i — V * A 4 * .
— «
3:
S -- K
^— -N-
i
Gone
Dear
I
like the flower
as the soul
will re • gret
by the way
o'er thy mem
when all oth
side that springcth,
o - ry sobbing,
ers for - get thee,
^
Round
Wast
Lin
the lone rock
ing is all
ger and burn
on a storm
the glad beau
till life's fe
bea -ten shore,
ty of yore,
ver is "o'er.
Gone art thou, Marion, Marion Moore !
Gone like the breeze o'er the billow that
bloweth;
Gone like the rill to the ocean that floweth ;
Gone as the day, from the grey mountain
goeth,
Darkness behind thee, but glory before.
Peace to thee, Marion, Marion Moore, —
Peace which the queens of the earth cannot
borrow ;
Peace from a kingdom that crown'd thee with
sorrow.
O ! to be happy with thee on the morrow,
Who would not fly from this desolate shore?
THE MISTLETOE HOUGH.
THE MISTLETOE BOUGH.
299
THOMAS HATNES BAYLY'S pathetic song of " The Mistletoe Bough," was founded upon
a story which is embodied in the " Italy'7 of Samuel Eogers. The story runs that Ginevra,
a beautiful girl of illustrious parentage, was wedded to a noble youth. Guests had
assembled for the marriage-feast, when some one whispered that the bride was missing,
and a boding thrill ran through the company. All search for her was fruitless. A few
weeks afterward, the heart-broken husband was killed in battle, in a self-sought encounter,
while the lonely and grey-haired father was seen, year after year, seeking for his long-lost
child. One day, after his death, a girl, as young and thoughtless as the bride had been,
roaming through the musty galleries of the castle, came upon a carved and massive chest.
" Let's draw it out," said she, gaily. She touched its side, when lo ! it crumbled and fell
wide apart, and with it fell what had once been life and beauty. Amid the ruin shone
bright jewels, a wedding ring, and a small seal inscribed " Ginevra."
JJJJJJ-
B
1. The mistletoe hung in the cas - tie hall, The holly branch shone on the old oak wall, And the
2. "I'm wea-ry of danc- ing now," she cried ;" Here tar-ry a moment, — I'll hide, I'll hide ! And,
P
:fc
^r
&-J J j J^J-J
-d ^ — jj j^-
; J' J 4 J •
^- r r r r
— ^
^ Ns^ «—
bar-on's re-tain-ers were blithe
Lov - ell, be sure thou'rt the first
7r\\ "i ^^ "1 ^ si l
and gay, And
to trace The
keep- ing their Christ-mas hoi - i - day ; The
clue to my se - cret lurking-place." A-
^
T \-
:±M
"J ** "* * ^
* ^
N
i — i
<v
[gg-7p i i x =r
-As
1s* 1 "
— n — =; — =1 rx i
q -ill.
— =1 —
~h ^
*j *
i i
/)
*
^f- +
V
s
>K *"*•'- -x * m 0 —
-^ —
3* — ^ — is — 1 ^-
-T ^
Kb T f M ~C~ 4
=F—
r r t-f-
Is J J ,. J
J/r r r-
-HH
•J V V V
bar-on be -held, with a fa- ther's pride, His beau - ti - ful child, young Lov - el's bride ; While
-way she ran, — and her friends be - gan Each tow - er to search, and each nook to scan ;And young
A ^^
K.
fr-S\- Sj ,N SJ -^
^
_q M 1
^ J ^ "1
1
(£H = a H = a—
~£~
— K—
j *i
-^L
. JM ^ -
-^/--^
,s M «i n M M
MM ^rf
— =r~
-I-1
n V^ -
- 9 ~ X
300
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
I
s
she,with her bright eyes, seem'd to be The star of the good - ly com - pa - ny.
Lov - el cried," OhjWhere dost thou hide? I'm lonesome without thee, my own dear bride !"
%
3v=3=
1 1 fsl=^
i?
£
^5-
P=3=
i i
ZT— * F f P f~
1 P' ^[* 5J-J
—
t N — * — K — yi
^^ — y—ft
pEi 1 — f — £ — E
Oh, the mis - tie - toe
-9 — — j 1
bough!....
-*
01
i, the mis - tie - toe
1 <n 1
^r r n
bough!
— i 1 — H
-> : — 4-^ —
..jtej • —
- ?
j •
j;r-vj II
collet voce.
V •
1
* . — 1
Cr« "<H
S ^... 3 1
1
— *— h
=T-^— H
It •
-i*- •
*
i ^ — =- —
1 _J U
They sought her that night, and they sought her
next day,
And they soflght her in vain, till a week pass'd away!
In the highest — the lowest — the loneliest spot,
Young Lovell sought wildly, but found her not.
And years flew by, and their grief at last,
Was told as a sorrowful tale long past ;
And when Lovell appeared, the children cried,
"See ! the old man weep for his fairy bride."
Oh, the Mistletoe bough!
At lengtn an old chest, that had long lain hid,
Was found in the Castle — they raised the lid,
And a skeleton form lay mouldering there,
With a bridal wreath in her clustering hair!
Oh ! sad was her fate ! in sportive jest.
She hid from her lord in the old oak chest ;
It closed with a spring ! — and her bridal
bloom
Lay withering there in a living tomb.
Oh, the Mistletoe bough !
ALLAN WATER.
MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS, who wrote the words of " Allan Water/' was born in Lon-
don, England, in 1775. His father was wealthy, and at one time held the office of Dep-
uty Secretary-at-War. The son is best known as a writer of tales which are characterized
by frightful and revolting picturesqueness. He is so identified with the chief of these,
" The Monk," that he is familiarly known as " Monk Lewis." He spent several years in
Germany, but on his father's death, removed to inherited estates in Jamaica, West Indies..
He was a genial, warm-hearted man. Byron says : " Lewis was a good man, a clever man,
but a bore. My only revenge or consolation used to be setting him by the ears with some
vivacious person who hated bores especially,— Madame de Stael, or Hobhouse, for example.
But I h'ked Lewis ; he was the jewel of a man, had he been better set, I don't mean person-
ally,— but less tiresome; for he was tedious as well as contradictory to everything and
everybody. Poor fellow! he died a martyr to his new riches, — of a second visit to
Jamaica :
' I'd give the lands of Deloraine
Dark Musgrave were alive again I'
That Is,
I would give many a sugar-cane,
Mat Lewis wcie alive again!"
ALLAN WATER.
301
Sir Walter Scott says of Lewis : " How few friends one has. whose faults are only
ridiculous. His visit was one of humanity, to ameliorate the condition of his slaves. He
did much good by stealth, and was a most generous creature." Lewis died at sea in 1818.
The familiar music is the composition of CHARLES EDWARD HORN. He was born in
London, in 1786. His father was a noted German musician, but the son surpassed him.
He evinced musical talent very early, became one of the finest baritone singers in London,
wrote many operas, and composed some of the sweetest and most popular ballad airs of
his day. Chorley speaks of him as "one of those delicious and refined English tune
composers, to whom the time present offers no equivalent." Unfortunately for his airs,
they were too often set to meaningless words, and so have perished. Horn came to the
United States, and sang in the Park Theatre in New York, but lost his voice, and afterward
kept a music store. His wife was also a well-known singer. He died in New York in 1849.
jzrnza: _*.
Stf> » k.
j « 1 C3 i
. * \ ^ p ^ n 'i
rrvr CHHC 3H
r i * *
^1 9 **~~
ED • -4- -j- g •
9 • ^ 1 '
«V 9 •
1. On the
2. On the
banks.... of Al -Ian Wa -ter,
banks.... of Al -Ian Wa -ter,
When the sweet spring-time did
When brown au - tumn spreads its
U | |7 O \
I \ 1 T J \
— H — > ~is - H
(^^^— ^J— — J—
— 0 — ~~i — — 9 — ~J — * — — i —
-4-j i j — *—
v- Jy 4
9 9, 1 0
^
"'9 ^J. *
f~\« I ' i \
{ \ m 1
i \ i
l'i K*1 T
f f
« « f *r
z ha: *
1 A m A
* * A S 7
1
-N
f ^^ ,_ ±=-«—
fall, Was the mil
store, . . . . There I saw ....
ler's love - ly daugh - ter,
the mil - ler's daugh - ter,
Fair-est of them
But she smil'd no
-P=*
-H 1-
--&
all; For his bride a sol - dier sought her, And a win - ning tongue had
more ; For the sum - mer grief had brought her, And the sol - dier, false was
— ] — ^
^SrF^S^F^
mf
He
H H
302
OUR FAMILIAE SONGS.
i
ne. On the banks of Al - Ian Wa -ter, None so gay as
nej On the banks of Al - Ian "Wa - ter, None so sad a>
i i -T— r- -- -f
m . TF^ H=
=t =f =*= =St=EEt
^ £__=5_
z=pi
ESE
fast,.... Still was seen.... the mil - ler's daugh -ter; Chill - ing blew the
*=*
(^feEE^Ei
^=^|E|;^p3
zto=S
JF=
:^:
But the mil - ler's love -ly daugh - ter, Both from cold and care
•*•-•••*••••-•. * -•• i
^
ALLAN" WATER,
p lento.
303
rail, molto.
-dz *
-\-¥- --j-
There a corse lay
s
she!
SEz5=*£3Ei5E E53=E^=^E^3E
S~ —^ \ I j=3=jj3^=±^ii^=:3Eg
^qfc=|p
*#;#. ^ rdr/A alfine.
MARY OF THE WILD MOOR.
THE following song is a combination of old English words and music. They are both
very old ; but had never been linked together until JOSEPH W. TURNER united them, added
a few hues, and adapted them with a piano accompaniment, which we give. In this form
they appeared about 1845. Mr. Turner says, in a note attached to the music, that the song
recites the fate of a beautiful girl, wooed by a young man whose suit was disapproved by
her parents. The lovers were secretly married, and when, a year later, the young wife was
deserted, she made her way to her old home, only to die upon the threshold. The song is
so poor as poetry, that it has depended for its popularity solely upon the plaintive beauty
of an air well suited to the mournful tale whose burden it repeats.
1. One night when the wind it blew cold, Blew
2. "Oh. why did I leave this fair cot, "Where
bit - ter a -cross the wild moor; Young
once I was hap -py and free ; Doom'd to
—^*
I
M
«
_!» '
»
..,«f -
tf -.
E
— » —
2
-^ T
J
-+ —
-* <—0 '- 1
•-I? — N — — -N — N — Tfr—fn — — sz=nz$iziic^i^^tiH£
Ma - ry she came with her child, Wand'ring home to her own fa- ther's door;'^-
roam without friends and for -got, Oh, fa-ther,take pi- ty on me!"
Crying
But her
304
<>fi; FAMILIAR SONGS.
-*— r-f- «=
« — * * * t-*
Fa - ther, O pray let me in. Take pi - ty ou me, I im - plore,
F» - thcr was deaf to her cries, Not a voice or a sound rcach'd the door ;
<>r ttit-
But the
child at my bo -som will die, From the winds that blow 'cross the wild mooF
watch-dogs did howl, and the winds Blew bit - ter a - cross the wild moor.
Oh, how must her father have felt
When he came to the door in the morn;
There he found Mary dead, and the child
Fondly clasped in its dead mother's arms,
While in frenzy he tore his gray hairs,
As on Mary he gazed at the door,
For that night she had perished and died,
From the winds that blow 'cross the wild moor.
The father in grief pined away,
The child to the grave was soon borne;
And no one lives there to this day,
For the cottage to ruin has gone.
The villagers point out the spot,
Where a willow droops over the door;
Saying, " There Mary perished and died,
From the winds that blow 'cross the wild moor."
WHAT AILS THIS HEART O' MINE?
SUSANNA BLAMIRE, author of the following lyric, was born January 12, 1747, at Garden
Hall, near Carlisle, England. She went to Scotland when young, and remained there many
years. Her poems were long scattered about unclaimed. She is described as having a grace-
ful form, somewhat above middle size, and a face slightly marked with small-pox, but beaming
with kindness, and sparkling, dark eyes. She was called " a bonnie and verra lish young
lass,"% which means a beautiful and very lively young girl. She returned to Carlisle, and
died there, April 5, 1794.
The old melody of the song is called "My dearie, an' thou dee."
1. What
2. When
WHAT AILS' THIS HEART O' MINE?
305
gars me aye turn cauld as death,When I take leave o'
rustling bush will seem to say, I us'd to meet the
thee?
meet thee there.
When thou art far a - wa, Thou'lt
Then I'll sit down and cry, An'
Tl ; «> | M i W — »
* !* -^ Mr 35 p— — — ^— -^r — i^^ • »
-*-? g--X^ 0 "
dear - er grow to me ;
live aneath the tree,
But change o' place and change o' folk May gar thy fan - cy jee.
An' when a leaf fa's in my lap, I'll ca't a word f rae thee.
I'll hie me to the bower,
That thou wi' roses tied,
An' where, wi' mony a blushing bud,
I strove mysel' to hide.
I'll doat on ilka spot,
Where I ha'e been wi' thee,
An' ca' to mind some kindly word,
By ilka burn and tree.
Wi' sic thoughts in my mind,
Time thro' the warld may gae,
And find my heart in twenty years
The same as 'tis to-day.
'Tis thoughts that bind the soul,
An' keep friends in the e'e;
An' gin I think I see thee aye
What can part thee and me?
WHEN OTHER FRIENDS ARE ROUND THEE.
THIS little song, first published in 1846, was written by GEORGE P. MORRIS. The music
has been attributed confidently to Mrs. Esling, of Philadalphia (nee Catherine R. Water-
man), a friend of Morris's, and a contributor to his periodical ; but in reply to a letter of
inquiry, she writes me that she has no connection whatever with the song. I have no clue
to its composer, except the misleading initials, "C. E. W.," which accompany the sheet music.
^
m^=r=R
J f I u — c —
1. When
2. Yet
oth - er friends are
do not think I
round thee, And
douht thee, I
oth - er hearts are thine ;
know thy truth re - mains ;
When
(B
(201
306
oth - er bays have crown'd thee, More fresh, more green than mine,
would not live with - out thee For all the world con - tains.
Then
Thou
!
^=i
?=?=?
think, oh, think how lone
art the star that guides
ly This throb - bing heart must be,
me A - cross life's trou- bled sea,
inti
m&
Which,
And what
=F=^
&
3,
^
while it beats, beats on - ly, Be - lov - ed one, for thee,
-ev - er fate be - tides me, This heart will turn to thee,
m
Which,
And what-
while it beats, beats on
-ev - er fate be - tides
ly, Be - lov - ed one, for thee.
me, This heart will turn to thee.
ARABY'S DAUGHTER.
ARABY'S DAUGHTER.
307
THE words of " Araby's Daughter " occur in Moore's " Fire Worshippers," the third
story told in " Lalla Eookh."
The an- was composed by E. KIALLMARK, an English musician, who was born at King's
Lynn, Norfolk, in 1781. He was left an orphan at a very early age, but kind relatives
cared for him, and fostered his fondness for music, and he became celebrated as a teacher
of the art. When twenty years old, he married a Scotch girl, and he afterward arranged
some of the most exquisite Scottish music.
J
1 Fare - well, fare-well to thee, A - ra-by's daughter (Thus war- bled a Pe - ri be-
L I ? • irP
£=
8
fa?— — «=1— *-
•
~ 1 * *
—0— —3 — 0-
— *r — *r- — «*—
0
w- — j J J; — 3~~
4=
9 ' m
J •
— *—
-1 —
m •-•*- 0 ~ 9 * • 9 m 99
-neath the dark sea.)/ No pearl ev - er lay un- der O- man's green wa - ter, More
IN is JN PA..A..NNr^
ZE- u J • aSua »
m • m^ * m m
VfJ*, I/ r \j r r
V \
Ll
r \jrrr
<—s\) t YI L L
mm
\, v, , L L
v V i/ / P
9
u
v > v r
1
1 9
* \s U
t
pia.
-fN *
pure in its shell than thy spir - it in thee ; A- round thee shall glis - ten the
N N N
^
f^
-a.
Cres. f .
£
lev - li - est am- ber That ev - er the sor- row- ing sea-bird has wept; "With
-f ^-
m
m
v v
^
^a^4H^4=J=B
—0—9— —0—1^-0 0 0— —I i-
K
3
ma - ny a shell, in whose hollow-wreathed chamber We Pe - ris of ocean by moonlight have slept.
f 0 — !••••. IN fc IN_ 0 , 0 > 0 0 0 0 t
308
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
±+
2 Nor shall I - ran, be-loved of her He - ro ! for - get thee, Tho' ty- rants watch o - ver her
/. , . A , , . r
?un"-t-
-i
-* *-
tears as they start; Close, close by the side of that he - ro she'll set thee, Em-
— f f • f — *_— i: p \i *_
PP
i
£
* . * Jl — J— N .N N N
g ^ -jiU^q
TT
x k1 V
balmed in the in - ner-most shrine of her heart; A -round thee shall glis - ten the
/• j* /
S
£
t - N
lov - li - est am - bor That ev - er the sor- row- ing sea-bird has wept: «TM
E^^fe*
6
S-l
^
ma - ny a shell in whose hoi - low-vrreath'd chamber, We Pe - ris of o- cean by
* • * f . P p C> *.
moon - light have slept Fare - well, fare - well, fare - well
ARABY'N DAUGHTER.
309
Farewell — farewell to thee, Araby's daughter,
(Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea.)
No pearl ever lay, under Oman's green water,
More pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee.
Oh ! fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing,
How light was thy heart till Love's witchery
came,
Like the wind of the south, o'er a summer lute
blowing,
And hushed all its music, and withered its
frame !
But long, upon Araby's green, sunny highlands,
Shall maids and their lovers remember the
doom
Of her who lies sleeping among the Pearl
Islands,
With naught but the sea-star to light up her
tomb.
And still, when the merry date-season is burning,
And calls to the palm-groves the young and the
old,
The happiest there, from their pastime returning
At sunset, will weep when thy story is told.
The young village-maid, when with flowers she
dresses
Her dark-flowing hair for some festival day,
Will think of thy fate till, neglecting her
tresses,
She mournfully turns from the mirror away.
Nor shall Iran, beloved of her Hero! forget
thee —
Though tyrants watch over her tears as they
start,
Close, close by the side of that Hero she'll set
thee,
Embalmed in the innermost shrine of her heart.
Farewell — be it ours to embellish thy pillow
With everything beauteous that grows in the
deep;
Each flower of the rock, and each gem of the
billow
Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep.
Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber
That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept;
With many a shell, in whose hollow-wreath'd
chamber,
We Peris of ocean by moonlight have slept.
We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling,
And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head;
We'll seek where the sands of the Caspian are
sparkling,
And gather their gold to strew over thy bed.
Farewell — farewell — until Pity's sweet fountain
Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave,
They'll weep for the chieftain who died on that
mountain,
They'll weep for the maiden who sleeps in this
wave.
MARY'S DREAM.
THE poor but sensitive and cultivated tutor, falling into hopeless love with his fair
pupil, has furnished a theme for numberless romances. The true story of the author of
" Mary's Dream " affords us a variation from it. Nothing is wanting but a proper denou6-
ment, to make this bit of history just like a story-book. We can now imagine the lady
true always to the betrothed husband who comes in a dream to comfort her, and a poet
friend, with feeling and fancy enough to put the visitation into tender words, who has not
usurped the place of the lost lover.
JOHN LOWE was born in Galloway, Scotland, in 1750. His father was a gardener, and
after gleaning a little education at the parish school, the sou showed good talent for music,
and devoted himself to the art. He was fondest of sacred music, which he taught for his
support. He finally succeeded in going through the University of Edinburgh, and soon after
became tutor to Miss McGhie, daughter of a Scottish gentleman. While he was in the
family, the accepted lover of the young lady, Alexander Miller, was drowned at sea, and
on the sorrowful event this song was written. Lowe also composed a beautiful air to it,
which has been supplanted.
310
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
He came to the United States, and opened a school in Fredericksburgh, Virginia, and
afterwards took orders in the Episcopal Church. Domestic and other troubles brought
him to his grave in 1798.
This song has had more true lovers than almost any other. Washington Irving, in his
uld age, loved to recall his sister's singing of the ballad. " How constantly it made me
weep," he used to say, " and yet how constantly I begged of her to sing it."
I. The moon had climb'd the high - est hill, Which ris - es o'er the
2 She from her pil - low gent - ly rais'd Her head, to ask who
*EEjE
^=1=3
^ P
source of Dee, And from the east - ern sum - mit shed Her sil - ver light on
there might be— She saw young San - dy shiv -'ring stand, With vis - age pale and
K
»tzr
* 5
S^s
tow'r and tree; When Ma -ry laid her down to sleep, Her thoughts on San - dy
hoi - low e'e : — <;O Ma - ry dear 1 cold is my clay, It lies far be - neat h a
[ j l
1 1 0 \ _J=33=:«_ -fgjj •
-^
_ L_ .-, _ .
A I ^k
-F— ^ — ^^ n
*B — "v_ ~^' 0 *-*
far at sea; When soft and low a voice was heard Say, "Ma- ry, weep no more for me."
storm -y sea; Far, farfromthee, I sleep in death, So "Ma -ry, weep no more for me."
MARY'S DREAM.
31'
The moon had climbed the highest hill,
Which rises o'er the source of Dee,
And from the eastern summit shed
Her silver light on tower and tree ;
When Mary laid her down to sleep,
Her thoughts on Sandy, far at sea ;
When soft and low, a voice was heard,
Say, " Mary, weep no more for me."
She from her pillow gently raised
Her head, to ask who there might be —
She saw young Sandy shivering stand,
With visage pale and hollow e'e ; —
" O, Mary, dear ! cold is my clay,
It lies beneath a stormy sea;
Far, far from thee, I sleep in death ; —
So, Mary, w«ep no more for me !
" Three stormy nights and stormy days,
We tossed upon the raging main;
And long we strove our bark to save, —
But all our striving was in vain.
E'en then, when horror chilled my blood,
My heart was filled with love for thee ;
The storm is past, and I at rest ; —
So, Mary, weep no more for me !
"O, maiden, dear, thyself prepare, —
We soon shall meet upon that shore
Where love is free from doubt and care,
And thou and I shall part no more."
Loud crowed the cock, the shadow fled,
No more of Sandy could she see ;
But soft the passing spirit said,
" Sweet Mary, weep no more for me 1 '*
CONNEL AND FLORA.
THE most wandering of all Bohemians was the Scottish poet and American ornithol-
ogist, ALEXANDER WILSON. He was born in Paisley, Scotland, July 6, 1766. His father
was a distiller in a small way, but, for the son, the parents aspired to the church. His
mother died when he was but ten years old, and three years afterward his father married
again, and he was apprenticed to a weaver. From his mother he had inherited a love for
books and music, and he had made good use of school instruction. For several years he
worked steadily at a distasteful occupation, writing poems all the time in secret. He was
fond of Nature, and finally his trade became so intolerable that he sought her in a way not
generally connected with romance. He strapped a peddler's pack across his shoulders,
and began pilgrimages over hill and through valley, writing as the spirit seized him, and
keeping a minute diary of all he saw. We recall the opinion of the sage Andrew Fair-
service, in "Rob Roy," as to the traveling merchant: " It's a creditable calling, and a
gainfu', and has lang been in use wi7 our folk."
When twenty-three years old, the wandering bard had enough of the confidence of
age and the enthusiasm of youth, to venture to offer his poems for publication. They were
refused; but a year after their rejection, he had accumulated means enough to print them
himself, and carried them around the country with his other wares. Money failed to roll
in upon the tradesman who was " book-learned," and fame refused to come at the call
of a poet who was wielding a yard-stick ; so the wants of the man who was behind both,
compelled him to return to the loom once more.
A society had been established in Edinburgh for debate from literary aspirants, and
Mr. Wilson prepared a poem upon a subject appointed by the committee — the comparative
merits of Ramsay and Ferguson. He doubled his hours of labor to earn the money which
carried him to the capital with his manuscript, entitled " The Laurel Disputed," arrived in
time to repeat it in the " Forum," and remained several weeks trying to find a market for
both poetry and prose, but returned to his workshop disappointed. Here he met Burns,
and a year later he published a ballad called " Watty and Meg," which brought him into
notice, and was pronounced worthy of Burns.
Scotland seems to have an unhappy faculty for getting rid of her brightest sons. A
satire written in defence of the hand-loom operators of Paisley, so outraged their employ-
312
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
era, that Wilson was imprisoned, and compelled to burn the poem publicly, in front of the
jail. From that time, his path was so hunted that he fled the land. Like Burns, he was
obliged to work hard for the money to carry him away from those who would some time
be proudest to own him; but, unlike Burns, when four months of toil were over, no encour-
aging hand restrained him by a hearty touch upon the shoulder. He set sail for America,
in 1794, and lauded at Newcastle, Delaware, July 14. With a gun on his shoulder, and a
few shillings in his pocket, he set out to walk to Philadelphia. During the long journey,
he shot a red-headed wood-pecker, and had time to examine it attentively. This was his
first lesson in ornithology. He became a copper-plate printer in Philadelphia, then a
weaver, then a pedler in New Jersey, where he kept his journal, as of old. He then turned
schoolmaster, and was himself a student in the sciences. He formed the acquaintance of
William Bartram, the naturalist, and Alexander Lawson, the engraver, and the result was
a project to describe, with drawings, all the birds of the Middle States — finally, all in
the Union. The plan was so large that everybody was frightened from it, except the
indefatigable author. He tramped, and wrote, and drew, and colored, until the first
volume was ready for publication. In the mean time, he had fallen upon a noble and liberal
publisher, Samuel Bradford, of Philadelphia. The book contained the finest illustrations
yet published in this country, and was eminently successful. Wilson continued his voy-
ages alone, and in the midst of privations. One trip he took in a little skiff, going the
length of the Ohio Eiver, through many perils, and writing poetry as he went. So he
persevered, until seven volumes had been published. In preparing the eighth, he endan-
gered his life by swimming in pursuit of a rare bird, and the result of the exposure was
his death, August 23, 1813. His last wish was, that he be buried near some sunny spot,
where the birds would come and sing.
The title to the air of his song is, " Good Morrow, fair Mistress."
SlOW.
Arranged by Edward S. Cumminge.
Dark low - ers the night o'er the wide, storm - y main.
TNI
mild
ro - sy.
morn - ing
rise
cheer ful a
gain;
i
0 — ..^0
m
:*z=
CONNEL AND FLORA.
313
- las I morn re - turns to re - vis - it the
shore,
But
Dark lowers the night o'er the wide stormy main,
Till mild, rosy morn rise cheerful again ;
Alas ! morn returns to revisit the shore,
But Connel returns to his Flora no more.
For see, on yon mountain, the dark cloud of death,
O'er Connel's lone cottage, lies low on the heath ;
While bloody and pale, on a far distant shore,
He lies, to return to his Flora no more.
Ye light floating spirits that glide o'er the steep,
O would ye but waft me across the wild deep ;
There fearless I'd mix in the battle's loud roar,
I'd die with my Connel, and leave him no mor«.
TRUE LOVE CAN NE'ER FORGET.
THE incident which gave rise to the following song, by SAMUEL LOYER, has been the
foundation of several other ballads, some of them translated from the ancient Irish. The
story runs that Carolan, a blind harper, recognized his early love, Bridget Cruise, by the
touch of her hand, although he had not met her for twenty years.
The old lover was playing by the water, when a ferry-boat drew near, and he chanced
to assist the lady to alight. TTJRLOGH O'CAROLAN, the bard, was one of the characters ot
Ireland. He was born in Nobber, county Westmeath, in 1670, and was the last of the
ancient race of Irish bards. He lost his eyesight at the age of sixteen. He made very
beautiful words, but was chiefly noted for his exquisite melodies. Goldsmith, who had
seen him in his boyhood, wrote in later life : " His songs may be compared to those ot
Pindar, they bearing the same flight of imagination."
"True love can ne'er for -get,
Thus sung a min - strel gray,
"Long years are past and o'er,
Scarce - ly the min - strel spoke,
Where min - strel sat a - lone,
With lips whence bless - ings came,
Fond - ly as when we met,
His sweet, im - pass - ioned lay,
Since from this fa - tal shore,
When forth, with flash - ing stroke,
That la - dy - fair hath gone ;
He kissed with tru - est flame
•__ •»• f g T f.
Dear - est I
Down by the
Cold hearts and
Light oars the
In his hand she
Her baud, and
"*" "
14
OUR 1
^AMILIAR HO^GS.
Fine.
love tbee yet,
o - cean's spray,
cold winds bore
si - lence broke,
placed her own —
named //• /• name,
bl f
r '
My darl - ing
At set of
My love from
O - ver the
He bowed his
He could not
-f 1.... .l_|
sim.1' With-cred was the
me."
<(..t Soon up - on her
knee.
gee> True love can
• 1 ,j ,
min - strel's sight,
na - tive strand
ne'er for - get
^=^~^£=\
— *— « |«—
— — rt=£-
=3=^
D.C.
$***
^T~^~'^3^^^.
i — - — *=I: — ^— — - — *-^-*-LJ— *-*H
Morn to him was dark as night ; Yet his heart was full of light, As he this lay be -gun;
Doth a love - ly la - dy land,While the minstrel's love-taught hand Did o'er his wild harp run ;
Fond - ly as when they met, He loved his la - dy yet, His darl - ing one !
JEANIE MORRISON.
WILLIAM MOTHERWELL was but fourteen years old when he made the first draft of
" Jeanie Morrison." The boy's nature was unusually delicate, and throughout his short life
he was lovable and gentle. He was bora in Glasgow, October 13, 1797. His father was
an ironmonger. The family were in comfortable circumstances, and the poet received a
fine education. He held some small government offices, and then became a newspaper
editor. He had charge of three journals, and meantime edited his well-known "Minstrelsy,
Ancient and Modem/' an edition of Burns, in connection with Hogg, a collection of " Scot-
tish Songs," and " Scottish Proverbs." He also collected his own poetry, of which a few
pieces are among the best loved in our language. He died at the age of thirty-eight.
While Motherwell was still very young, his parents moved to Edinburgh, and he was
sent to school to William Lennie. To the same school came the pretty Jeanie Morrison,
and we have the master's own quaint account of the " twa bairnies":
"William Motherwell entered my school, then kept at No. 8 Crichton street, in the
neighborhood of George Square, on the 24th of April, 1805, and left it for the High School,
on the 7th day of October, 1808. He was between seven and eight years old when he
joined; an open-faced, finn, and cheerful-looking boy. He began at the alphabet, and
though he did not, at first, display any uncommon ability, his mind soon opened up, and
as he advanced in his education, he speedily manifested a superior capacity, and ulti-
mately became the best scholar in the school j yet he never showed any of that petulant
or supercilious bearing which some children discover, who see themselves taken notice of
for the quickness of their parts. He was, on the contrary, kind and accommodating ;
always ready to help those who applied to him for assistance, and a first-rate hand for
carrying on sport during the hours of recreation.
"Jane (Jeanie) Morrison was the daughter of one of the most respectable brewers and
corn-factors then in Alloa. She came to Edinburgh, to finish her education, and was in
my school, with William Motherwell, during the last year of his course. She was about
JEAN1E MORRISON.
315
the same age with himself, a pretty girl, and of good capacity. Her hair was of a lightish
brown, approaching to fair; her eyes were dark, and had a sweet and gentle expression;
her temper was mild, and her manners unassuming. Her dress was also neat and tidy. In
winter she wore a pale blue pelisse, then the fashionable color, and a light-colored beaver,
with a feather. She made a great impression on young Motherwell, and that it was per-
manent, his beautiful ballad shows. At the end of the season, she returned to her parents,
at Alloa, with whom she resided until the time of her marriage. She is now a widow, with
a family of three children." Jeanie Morrison's married name was Murdoch. Her husband
was a merchant in Glasgow. She is described in after life as very elegant in personal
appearance, and always characterized by the gentle manners which won the sensitive-
hearted boy poet, of whose romantic devotion she was wholly unconscious.
. WILLIAM B. DEMPSTER set the poem to music, and used to render it finely at his concerts.
Andantino.
1. I've wan -dered east, I've
wan - dered west, Thro' mon - y a wea - ry
— n,
way ; But
for-get, The luve o' life's young day!
3
~i -I -t -4 -] i -I
S=ii±==ti±izi=,_ J_ j — I
r 1 — k — — a — m •
fire that's blawn on Beltane e'en May weel be black gin Yule ; But black - or fa' a -
IgE^j^
I— J —
ad lib.
.^-^-p— _£i_is_:?v =ip_^«rq:
waits the heart, But black -er fa' a - waits the heart, Where first fond luve grows cule.
.^ /Ts
rfe=£= ==^=£-a-a r^ ^
f^EE^Ei-?
— p-t?—'
m •}_••
.-uj —
— i
i
H^^l"
E&3EE
4_*__
^
Efe
Fin-
316
OUK FAMILIAR SONGS.
I've wandered east— I've wandered west,
Through mony a weary way ;
But never, never can forget
The luve o' life's young day !
The fire that's blawn on Beltane e'en
May weel be black gin Yule ;
But blacker fa' awaits the heart
Where first fond luve grows cule.
0 dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,
The thochts o' bygane years
Still fling their shadows ower my path,
And blind my een wi' tears ;
They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears,
And sair and sick I pine,
As memory idly summons up
The blithe blinks o' langsyne.
'Twas then we luveit ilk ither weel,
'Twas then we twa did part ;
Sweet time — sad time ! twa bairns at scule,
Twa bairns, and but ae heart !
'Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink,
To leir ilk ither lear ;
And tones, and looks, and smiles were shed,
Remembered evermair.
1 wonder, Jeanie, aften yet,
When sitting on that bink,
Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof,
What our wee heads could think.
When baith bent doun ower ae braid page,
Wi' ae buik on our knee,
Thy lips were on thy lesson, but
• My lesson was in thee.
O, mind ye how we hung our heads,
How cheeks brent red wi' shame,
Whene'er the scule-weans, laughin', said
We decked thegither hame?
And mind ye o' the Saturdays,
(The scule then skail't at noon,)
When we ran off to speel the braes, —
The broomy braes o' June.
My head rins round and round about,
My heart flows like a sea,
As ane by ane the thochts rush back
O' scule-time, and o' thee.
O mornin' life ! O mornin' luve !
O lichtsome days and lang,
When hinnied hopes around our hearts
Like simmer blossoms sprang.
O, mind ye, luve, how aft we left
The deavin,' dinsome toun,
To wander by the green burnside,
And hear its waters croon ?
The simmer leaves hung ower our heads,.
The flowers burst round our feet,
And in the gloamin' o' the wood
The throssil whusslit sweet.
The throssil whusslit in the wood,
The burn sang to the trees, —
And we, with nature's heart in tune.
Concerted harmonies ;
And on the knowe abune the burn,
For hours thegither sat
In the silentness o' joy, till baith
Wi' very gladness grat.
Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison,
Tears trickled doun your cheek
Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane
Had ony power to speak!
That was a time, a blessed time,
When hearts were fresh and young,.
When freely gushed all feelings forth
Unsyllabled — unsung !
I marvel, Jeanie Morrison,
Gin I hae been to thee
As closely twined wi' earliest thochts
As ye hae been to me !
O, tell me gin their music fills
Thine ear as it does mine !
O, say gin e'er your heart grows grit
Wi' dreamings o' langsyne I
I've wandered east, I've wandered west,
I've borne a weary lot,
But in my wanderings far or near,
Ye never were forgot.
The fount that first burst frae this heart
Still travels on its way,
And channels deeper, as it rins,
The luve o' life's young day.
O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,
Since we were sindered young,
I've never seen your face nor heard
The music o' your tongue;
But I could hug all wretchedness,
And happy could I dee,
Did I but ken your heart still dreamed
O' bygane days and me !
AE FOND KISS.
AE FOND KISS.
317
SIR WALTER SCOTT'S saying that " the four lines beginning < Had we never loved sae
kindly/ contained the essence of a thousand love-poems/' is almost as well known as the
song itself, which is BURNS at his sweetest.
1st Voice.
Arranged by Edward S. Cummings.
8
2ti Voice.
1. Ae fond kiss, and then we sev - er;
2. I'll ne'er blame my par - tial fan - cy,
Ae fare -well, a - las! for -
Nae - thing could re - slst my
-g--b — r^"** r- 1 N K * * — -f^ — >~T~~d > i
5CTB k M ' ' f " M - 5- « f
rro" & 2 « ; A » « « • -« ^ -• * * *
VM? - - * * 355S45'
«y * • » (
- ev - er; Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Nan - cy; But to dee her, was to love her,
-]
xw[? u
1
1 ' 1
— 1
H
5J, ft_,L ft— £_
War - ring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Love but her, and love for - ev - er.
Who shall say that for - tune
Had we nev - er loved sae
:EI
s
-b— P3 ,
ptjEEIE^EsE: — k —
4=
grieves him, While the star of hope she leaves him?
kind- ly, Had we nev - er loved sae blind - ly,
Me, nae cheer-fu' twin-kle
Nev - ermet— or nev-er
318
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae farewell, alas ! forever ;
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee,
Who shall say that fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him ?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ;
Dark despair around benights me.
Ae fond kiss.
I '11 ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy ;
But to see her, was to love her ;
Love but her, and love for ever,
Had we never loved sae kindly, '
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met — or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Ae fond kiss.
Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest !
Fare-the-weel, thou best and dearest !
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love and pleasure !
Ae fond kiss and then we sever ;
Ae farewell, alas ! for ever !
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Ae fond kiss.
THERE'S NAE ROOM FOR TWA.
THE following Scotchy-sounding ballad dates back to 1852, and is attributed to GER-
TRUDE DANBY and GUSTAVE SATTER. Of the former, the author of the words, I can learn
nothing. Mr. Satter is a well-known musician, who was bora in Trieste about 1825, and
came to New York city many years ago. He gave his first concert in the music store of
G. Schirmer, on Broadway. He exhibited much musical genius, and was especially famed
for the ease and rapidity with which he read music at sight. He has long been absent
from New York, much of the time in Europe, and he now resides in Savannah, Georgia.
THERE'S NAE ROOM FOR TWA.
> -^
319
~:*~
I and Kit - ty walked a - braid, An' Ja - mie walked a - tween. We
thoughts, a - las 1 are i - die now, For Kit- ty is his bride. He
fc
B
EEB
-* —
J* .
reached the brig o'er yon wee linn, Our bon - ny brig sae sma';
could na', an' he wad hae baith, For that's for- bid by law;
2EES3
PP f
S
~K *—
tempo.
-*±£^T--. =&-
"Jenny, "said Jem, "maun walk be-hin," There's nae room for twa," "There's
In wed- ded life, an' wed - ded love, There's nae room for twa," "There's
ztjiff — — - -^ — =p^ — — == iirgv— 1£.— - — T--I =p:
tnf tempo.
ag-^
:=*
_
(a "very little faster.)
nae room for twa," said he, "There's nae room for twa," O,...
nae room for twa," ye ken, "There's nae room for twa." So! I-
*=£=
--- ,
-H — TTJ
r T
^ 9 1=
320
OUR FAMILIAR SONOS.
^ ad lib.
Jamie's words went to my heart, "There's nae room for twa."
hae gang'd my gate a - Iane,"There's nac room for twa."
Dear Kitty ! on thy bonnie brow,
The simmer sun shall shine ;
While wintry clouds and winter's gloom
Are gathering dark o'er mine.
I'll gie to God my lingerin' hours,
An' Jamie drive awa,'
For in this weary, wasted heart
There's nae room for twa.
The creepin' years hae slowly pass'd,
An' I hae struggled strang,
Wi' a broken hope, an' a broken heart,
But it is nae now for lang;
My thread o' life is a' but span,
An' I maun gang awa',
An' moulder in the clay cauld ground,
Where's nae room for twa.
THE WAEFU' HEART.
THESE beautiful words were written by SUSANNA BLAMIRE, to a Scottish air, called
" The wae fu' Heart."
1. Gin liv - ing worth could win my heart. You would - na speak in vain ; . . . .
2. Yet, oh! gin Heav'n in mer - cy soon Would grant the boon I crave,....
3. "I come, I come, my Ja - mie dear, And, oh! wi' what gude - will,....
.. But
.. And
1
.
J
1
'", A.e d?rk-s°me grave it's laid. Nev - er to rise a - gam. My
this hfe, now nae - thing worth. Sin' Ja - mie's in his grave. And
fol - low whaur - so - e'er ye lead, Ye can - na lead to ill." She
-3TT
THE WAEFU' HEART.
321
wae
see,
said,
fu' heart lies
his gen - tie
and soon a
low wi' his Whose heart was on - ly
spir - it comes To show me on my
dead - ly pale Her fad - ed cheek pos
mine : . .
way ! . .
sess'd ! .
• ». And
... Sur-
.. Her
oh! what a heart
-pris'd, nae doubt,
wae - fu' heart
was that to lose, But
I still am here, Sair
for - got to beat, Her
I maun ne'er re - pine,
won - d'ring at my stay,
sor - row sunk to rest.
HERE'S A HEALTH TO ANE I LO'E DEAR.
THIS is one of the last songs of EGBERT BURNS. It was addressed to Miss Jessie
Lewars, of Dumfries, who assisted in taking care of him in his last illness, and was one of
his widow's best friends. Burns wrote to Thomson: "I once mentioned to you an air
which I have long admired, ' Here's a health to them that's awa', hiney/ but I forget if you
took any notice of it, I have just been trying to suit it with verses, and I beg leave to recom-
mend the air to your attention once more."
dzzjp^fj:
jEsEB^Sptzzz:
Lz&=5_jpzt i
1. Here's a health to ane I lo'e
2. I mourn thro' the gay, gau-dy
PS
dear,
day,
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ; Thou art
As hope - less I mu so on thy charms ; But
i. ' ' i ^ ~r —
~^ — *~i~ 9 — * — Fi
»—»—*—!
sweet as the smile when fond lov -ers meet, And saf t as their part - ing tear, Jes-sie ; Al •
wel - come the dream o' sweet slum-ber, For then I'mlock'din thy arms; Jes-sie; I
3St
-r-t-| *-
t f^f
m
A22
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
- tho* thou maun nev-er be mine,
guess by the dear an -gel smile:
Al -tho' ev - en hope is de - nied;-... 'Tis
I guess by the love-roll -ing e'e;.... But why
•SN
sweet - er for thee de - spair - ing, Than aught In the world be - side, Jessie I
urge the ten - der con - fes - sion, 'Gainst for - tune's f ell, cru -el de - cree? Jessie!
AFTON WATER.
THE following song was written by BURNS in honor of Mrs. Dugald Stewart, the first
person of high position who noticed or encouraged him. Mrs. Stewart inherited Afton
Lodge, which was situated on the bank of Sweet Afton, a small river in Ayrshire.
The melody to which MR. J. E. SPILMAN set these plaintive words, is so sweet and
so familiar, that I give it in addition to the more elaborate Scottish air.
for* -Jb
— I"*"! « —--I
— . 1 r-n™
1. Flow gent - ly, sweet
2. Thou stock - dove, whose
Af - ton, a - mang thy green braes, Flow
ech - o re - sounds through the glen, Ye
-i— —> * 1 1 1 1 *
>* l
: n ..." 1
•? •?
•* •»• -i
-»••*• i
i~$
0
~1~
" ' ~ i x 1 — j
C3 L_
&. i
AFT ON WATER.
323
gent - ly, I'll
wild whist • ling
Ma - ry's a
green - crest - ed
sleep by thy
lap - wing, thy
mur -mur
scream-ing
ing
for
stream,
bear,
Flow
I
ATfr ! '
™-
— FH „ *—
r=H
; *==t
*— * ! 0
-rt
y2 — ^ — V^_»E — i — —^ — i «*^ — i — i --^ — i — i*. — "
gent - ly, sweet Af • ton, dis - turb not her dream,
charge you, dis - turb not my slum - ber - ing fair.
^—~ =j jjE
_J
I
• j |j
^555
j
J
•
5 *»
i aJ ii
'^rr~—i 1— — *
. — d
1- J—
• H
QUARTET.
:?^-Sr
1. Flow gent - ly, sweet Af - ton, a - mang thy green braes; Flow gent - ly, I'll
3. How loft - ty, sweet Af - ton, thy neighbour - ing hills, Far marked with the
Et
n u 4 j j
"6~lt5 — ^ —
' I
3 1 — \~
— 1 1 (
—\ j .
rcT^ i i I
i 1
"I
^
_j J ^_j 1
^ 0 a e —
sing thee a
cours - es of
II*.
' ' ^* -
song in thy
clear - wind - ing
t J 0
praise; My Ma - r
rills; There dai - 1
y's a - 6
: h
leep by thy
wan - der, as
cvtiUJ — £ *— —
1-& — — 9 — 1_| —
- — h — r~l
^__^___1 1 1 —
— t- 1 1
,-i ! 1_^
9 ' f
Z^-HP — M
T
\
T 1 1
3«4
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
mur-mur- ing stream, Flow gent - ly, sweet Af - ton, dis - turb not her dream. 2. Thou
mom ris - es high, My flocks and my Ma- ry's sweet cot in my eye. 4. How
stock -dove, whose ech - o re - sounds from
pleas - ant thy banks and green val - leys
hill,
low,
Ye wild whist- ling
WTiere wild in the
ntitf -*- r" J J'lr—
,.
3 i
jfj-l — i — « — j—
p*_iUi tr'f^
r~£ 9—
1 ! * 0 M
3<
? -^-
— 0 — 1_^ — 0 — = 1 j.—- — • — — « f •-» m —
black - birds in yon thorn - y den, Thou green - crest - ed lap -wing, thy
wood - lands the prim - ros - es blow I There oft, as mild eve - ning creep*
/!N J""l
t~Vjt }£
— | ! 1
\
_p LP C '
^ Tig ' — *
M mm
— 0 —
I
r
"1 ...
1 i
m m m
-i?
I i
r r n i
1
scream-ing for - bear,
o - yer the lea,
I charge you, dis - turb not my slum - ber - ing fair.
The sweet-scent - ed birk shades my Ma - ry and me.
3^£
=3
— \J! —f. ^ ~ --r -
I I I
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides !
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear
wave!
Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays:
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her
dream.
THE BRAES O' GLENIFFER.
THIS song was written by ROBERT TANNAHILL, to the air called "Bonnie Dundee,"
which, it seeais, can be roared to you like a lion, or cooed to you as soft as a sucking dove.
The Braes were a tract of country near the poet's home, and they were sometimes known
as the Stanley Braes. Robert Dinsmoor, who published under the nom de plume of " Rustic
Bard," and who was bora in Londonderry, New Hampshire, in 1757, included this song in a
rolume of poems, as his own.
THE BRAES 0' GLENIFFER.
325
8 |*
Keen blaws the wind o'er the braes o' Glen - if - fer, The
mf
J
j 0
¥ *
r- ! ^ H
X -
1 1 _| 1
j .
— -— -J* 1* •— C^£ ^ N r
'" 9
^$
auld cas - tie tur - rets are cov - er'd wi' snaw ; How chang'd i rae the time when I
— ~- wt —— H~n ^ — I ^
ff ^ ^ t A i^ ^ I . i ^
-Tt ^s ^ • ^ w ^-
\~^9— — ^— >— zntz: —9—\-» » * » — [-•— — *
—• — £=^ *_ __l=p t^z£— _^ — >_.
-±
met wi' my lov - er, A.- mang the broom bush - es by Stan - ley green shaw 1 The
:taz3:
-*-•-
-P— **-
-*-if
-P-
_^ 1« |»_j — ^_j» — .
wild flow'ra o' sim - mer were spread a' sae bon -nie, The ma - vis sang sweet frae the
*
. 3:
PE£
^EEJ:
mfizziih
-0—
*=^^=
:=p p==p=i gm=r=i=^=— U— 4-j-r — H^— -T-=l * * — |
green birk - en - tree ; But far to the camp they hae marched my dear John -nie, And
LL
:?=
t
:5=T
-4-
326
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
-*-s-
»—
now it U win-ter wi' na - tureand me.
Then ilk thing around us was blithesome and
cheerie,
Then ilk thing around us was bonnie and braw ;
Now naething is heard but the wind whistling
drearie,
And naething is seen but the wide-spreading
snaw ;
The trees are a' bare, and the birds mute and
dowie, —
They shake the cauld drift frae their wings as
they flee ;
And chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for my
Johnnie, —
'Tis winter wi' them and 'tis winter wi' me.
Yon cauld, fleecy cloud skiffs alang the bleak
mountain,
And shakes the dark firs on the steep, rocky
brae,
While down the deep glen brawls the snaw-
flooded fountain,
That murmured sae sweet to my laddie and
me;
It's na the loud roar, on the wintry winds
swellin',
It's na the cauld blast brings the tear to my
ee;
For, O ! gin I saw but my bonnie Scot's callan
The dark days o' winter were simmer to me.
THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR.
THIS song was written by EGBERT CRAWFORD, a Scottish author of considerable learn-
ing and importance, who wrote " Down the Bum, Davie, Love." " The Bush Aboon Tra-
quair" was first published in Ramsay's "Tea-Table Miscellany," in 1724, and afterward,
with the music, in the " Orpheus Caledonius.'1 The exquisite opening melody in Boildieu's
opera of " La Dame Blanche," is this sweet old Scottish air. It is in remembrance of this
melody that Dr. Moir, the " Delta" of Blackwood, says :
" In realms beyond the separating sea,
The plaided exile, 'neath the evening star,
Thinking of Scotland, scarce forbears to weep."
1. Hear me, ye nymphs, and ev' - ry swain, I'll tell how Peg - gy grieves me ; Tho'
2. That day she smil'd, and made me glad, No maid made seeai'd ev - er kinder ; I
BUSH ABOON TBAQUAIE.
327
thus I Ian - gnish and com -plain, A- las! she ne'er be - lieves me, My
thought my - self the luck - iest lad, So sweet - ly there to find her, I
JLk7 •£ p- 9-f e—
1 r-i= — ±
-1 1 ' Jl-
{C\) 1 H ^ -0 — f
~~»r~ ~~s~
f= ^ ^ ^ .
•*••*•
^ V r-
r~* — » — *- — i
H_ . _.j jf~ ... „..!*-
1
T r f ^
-1— ' "T "•*
vows
tried
and sighs, like
to soothe my
si- lent air, Un-heed-ed nev - er move her; The
am-'rous flame, In words that I-...tho't ten - der; If
i=i
_J-J-J==rf
^— ;
3=
^===z-
i=
bon - nie bush a
more there pass'd, I'm
boon, ...... Tra - quair, 'Twas there I
not ...... to blame, I meant not
first
to....
did love
of - fend
her.
Yet now she scornful flies the plain,
The fields we then frequented;
If e'er we meet she shows disdain,
She looks as ne'er acquainted.
The bonnie bush bloomed fair in May,
Its sweets I'll aye remember;
But now her frowns make it decay,
It fades as in December.
Ye rural powers, who hear my strains,
Why thus should Peggy grieve me ?
Oh ! make her partner in my pains,
Then let her smiles relieve me.
If not, my love will turn despair,
My passion no more tender ;
I'll leave the bush aboon Traquair,
To lonely wilds I'll wander.
BARBARA ALLAN.
THIS famous ballad is very old, and is of Scottish origin. The peasantry of a part of
Scotland still sing more stanzas than have ever been in print. The English, or an English
version of it, is called "Barbara Allan's Cruelty; or the Young Man's Tragedy." "Scarlet
Town" is given as the home of Barbara, and plebeian Jemmy Grove is substituted for
Sir John Graham. I give both versions, as the English one is a curious example of how
32b
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
the gist of the words may be lost overboard, as a song floats down the stream of time ; U
that, poor Barbara appeared a monster indeed, as there is no mention of the fact, that the
dying youth had formerly slighted her when the healths went round.
Pepys, in his Diary, under date of January 2, 1665, speaks of Mrs. Knipp's (the
actress's) singing, of "her little Scotch song of Barbary Allan, at Lord Brounker's," and ho
adds, that he was " in perfect pleasure to hear her sing it." Goldsmith recounts more
than once, his delight in the ballad. He says: "The music of the first singer is dissonance,
to what I felt when our old dairy-maid sung me into tears, with 'Johnny Armstrong's
Good night;' or, 'The Cruelty of Barbara Allan.'" The song came over to our country,
with the early settlers, and Horace Greeley, in his "Kecollections of a Busy Life/' speaks of
remembering to have heard his mother sing, "Barbara Allan."
The air is as old as the words, and the origin of both is unknown.
Larghetto.
7L ftP l* P
• i* ' i* •
i* 'f \ r i*
"• 9 1*
1* <
fen ^ ' J
i
D \ if
jR H
•
vuj » •
1 .-2 ' I/ '^
1 1 J
p ^ ,^^- ^ ^. -^,
1. It was in and a -bout the Mart - 'mas time, When the green leaves were a -
2. O, slow - ly, slow - ly rase she up, To the place where he was
L/ *^^
n
n
m^ "liX ^ N*
- i
J J
r \\
J Ttfl
* « • «
I i
V^ y
9 i
1 ^3^
^2 4 m
J 1
I
99
£ .1 -1 .1 » »
ff V
/m9\* ••*•
p/»> vj >•
d f—
-^
^*rn '
+- -m- — — m—
-J •) J IE
ES^ E
•* — f
-f- r r
-^ — ^-
^=t — g
f
• r r
-M-.+-J-
W 9 9
c
b tzmc
D
"^~—
- fal - in', That Sir John Gra -ham, in the west coun-trie, Fell in love wi' Bar - b'ra
- ly - in', And when she . drew the cur - tain by, Young man, I think ye're
0 8 u.
j
<£ ft &—. a-
-^ — •
1 — J-
— J — J
— f J
——
iB *—. !1-
•a — •
al fl«~
=5 3-
— 5 — 9 —
1 — j 5
— 1
t) m * m mm 99
-1-1 •
* *
I
SSS 1
i
i i
• 1
I
1
r
!
^ tf g^. jfi
J «
=i- -H ^
-* 9-
a
/L # d
j
1
K—-T— =3— =3-
K
i
J *
•
•
! '
LMJ l
1 9
* .
•
i • j
! J
c Al - Jan. He e
dy - in'. It's
ent his man down thro' the town, To the p
oh, I'm sick, ve-ry, ve - ry sick, And it's
— | r— — H r-K 1 J^l—
# »
lace where she was
a' for Bar -b'ra
c
fe*T-±-
•
d 1
&
J. J1 J
£ * N*
J=t
r^ ft d. ^~
r "I
(
/r%
— n=
i 1 — ! — s — r
K
1~H E —
~: c —
1 J II
^=t= ^^^ J • J1 T^T-a' ii i" f-=*=z=-«r4_«L=*z= =u
dwal-lin', Oh, haste and come to my mas- ter dear, Gin ve be Bar -b'ra Al - Ian.
^^ Al-lim; Oh, the better for me ye'se nev - er be, Tho'jxmr heart's bluid were a -spill -in'.
/ \J •* ~ ~ 1 | ^ — r" r m
ZCT^S"" .>* T •*-: K^ 1 d •- -1 r c 1 -H
£
.-F-
V
B
_^
i
'^
1
-.-. m •>
._:.«
^ ' J •
J,-J
P ^ !: '
£=
l£ =
BARBARA ALLAN.
329
It was in and about the Mart'mas time,
When the green leaves were a fallin',
"That Sir John Graham, in the west countrie,
Fell in love wi' Barbara Allan.
He sent his man down through the town,
To the place where she was dwallin',
O, haste arid come to my master dear,
Gin ye be Barbara Allan.
O, slowly, slowly rase she up,
To the place where he was lyin',
And when she drew the curtain by,
" Young man, I think ye're dyin'."
'" It's oh, I'm sick, I'm very, very sick,
And it's a' for Barbara Allan ;
O, the better, for me ye'se never be
Though your heart's bluid were a-spillin'."
*' O, dinna ye mind, young man, she said,
When ye was in the tavern a-drinkin',
The English version is as follows :
That ye made the healths gae round and round,
And slichtit Barbara Allan."
He turned his face unto the wa,
And death was with him dealin';
" Adieu, adieu, my dear friends a',
And be kind to Barbara Allan."
And slowly, slowly, rase she up,
And slowly, slowly left him,
And sighin', said, she could not stay,
Since deyth of life had reft him.
She hadna gane a mile but twa,
When she heard the deid-bell ringin',
And every jow the deid-bell gi'ed,
It cried, " Wae to Barbara Allan."
" Oh, mother, mother, mak' my bed,
And mak' it saft and narrow;
Since my love died for me to-day
I'll die for him to-morrow."
In Scarlet Town, where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwellin',
And every youth cried well awa';
Her name was Barbara Allan.
Her name was Barbara Allan,
Her name was Barbara Allan,
All in the merry month of May,
When green buds they were swelling,
Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allan.
He sent his man unto her then,
To the town where she did well in,
Saying, " You must come to my master,
If your name be Barbara Allen;
For death is printed on his face,
And o'er his heart is stealin',
Then haste away to comfort him,
O lovely Barbara Allan."
" Though death be printed on his face,
And o'er his heart be stealin',
Yet little better shall he be
For bonny Barbara Allan."
So slowly, slowly she came up,
And slowly she came nigh him,
And all she said when there she came,
"Young man I think your dying! "
He turned his face unto her straight,
With deadly sorrow sighing:
" Oh ! pretty maid, come pity me,
I'm on my death-bed lying."
** If on your death-bed you do lie,
What needs the tale your tellin',
I cannot keep you from your death; —
Farewell ! " said Barbara Allan.
He turned his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealin',
"Adieu, adieu, my friends all,
Adieu to Barbara Allan."
As she was walkin' o'er the fields,
She heard the bells a' knellin',
And every stroke did seem to say,
" Unworthy Barbara Allan."
She turned her body round about,
And spied the corpse a coming ;
" Lay down, lay down the corpse," she said,
" That I may look upon him."
With scornful eyes she looked down ;
Her cheeks with laughter swellin',
Whilst all her friends cried out amain,
" Unworthy Barbara Allen."
When he was dead and in his grave,
Her heart was struck with sorrow;
" O mother, mother make my bed,
For I shall die to-morrow.
Hard-hearted creature, him to slight,
Why loved me so dearly,
O ! that I'd been more kind to him,
When he was alive and near me."
She on her death-bed as she lay,
Begged to be buried by him,
And sore repented of the day,
That she did e'er deny him.
'• Farewell ! " she said, " ye virgins all
And shun the fault I fell in ;
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allan."
330
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
SAVOURNEEN DEELISH.
Savourneen dheelish Eileen ogue, "Darling, dear young Ellen," is the refrain of a song;
which is often attributed to Thomas Campbell, but was written by GEORGE COLMAN the
younger, and formed part of his musical drama entitled, "The Surrender of Calais."
George Colman the younger, who, like his father, was an English comic dramatist, was-
bora October 21, 1762. He became manager of the Haymarket Theatre, and wrote more
farces, comedies, etc., than any modern dramatist, but most of them were unsuccessful,
and none survive. After the condemnation of his play, "The Iron Chest," he added to
his name, "the younger," saying, in explanation, "Lest my father's memory may be injured
by mistakes, and in the confusion of after-time, the translator of Terence, and the author
of the 'Jealous Wife/ should be supposed guilty of 'The Iron Chest/ I shall, were I to
reach the patriarchal longevity of Methuselah, continue (in all my dramatic publications)
to subscribe myself, George Colman the younger."
O'Carrol, a fine Irish singer, used to sing Colman's song to the old melody, "Savourneen
Dheelish."
-H K
m
1. O ! the mo - mcnts were Bad when my
2. When the word of com - mand put our
3. I fought for my coun - try, far
I
SEE! \— *-£$,*-?—
i
- « 1 j-
-> j -J
-;— >
l^-^kl-S-rf-*- ir-
1 !
-fc+
— fc=-
•=-N
-^-+
-K-^'-^r1 £**'*
rail ~+ +•
~\ ^i *-b? —i- b« — J 1 1-
5
— —
l^a
— ^H—
3
w^-'
>^-*<
f--
1
s
#K=- =*=^£r' * i
c
0
=_=
3EE
= \
love and I part - ?d, Sa - vour - neen dhee - lish
troops all in mo - t on, Sa - vour - neen dhee - lish
far, from my true love, Sa - vour - neen dhee - lish
El - leen o-gue; I
El - leen 0 - gue; I
El - leen o-gue; My
kiss'd >ff the
c)asp'«1 on my
pay and my
tear, and was nigh broken - heart -ed, Sa
knap -sack to cross the wide o - cean. Sa
boot - y, I hoarded for you, love, Sa
vour - neen dhee - lish
vour - neen dhee - lish
vour - neen dhee - lish
SAVOURNEEN DIIEELISH.
331
|L-JLJ5
; — «T-tll*' 0 9 ~~T~*^^:
El - leen
El - leen
El - leen
ogue; Wan was her cheek which hung on my shoulder; Damp
ogue; Brisk were our troops, roar - ing like thun-der, Pleas'd
ogue ; Peace was pro - claim'd — I es - cap'd from the slaughter. Land -
^zFf=p-_0_g_i^L=:^Hv:z>q
r-*-
was her hand, and no mar - ble was cold - er, I thought in my soul that I ne'er
with their voy-'age,im -pa - tient of plun-der, Whilst my poor heart with grief was almost
ed at home, my sweet girl I sought her, But sor-row, a -las I to her cold
more should be - hold her, Sa - vour - neen
torn a - sun - der — Sa - vour - neen
grave had brought her, Sa - Your - neen
dhee - lish
dhee - lish
dhee - lish
El - leen o - gue.
El - leen o - gue.
El - leen o - gue.
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.
THE author of "Lord Ullin's Daughter," THOMAS CAMPBELL, although boasting of high
Scottish ancestry, might have been an American, if the Bostonians had not upset the tea
that was passed to them without sugar ; for when the Eevolution broke out, his father was
a prosperous merchant in Virginia. He returned with his family to Glasgow, where his son
Thomas was bora, in July, 1777. The poet's life is too well known to need repetition.
This ballad of the Highlands of Scotland, was one of the every-day favorites of our grand-
parents and great-grandparents.
The music is by GEORGE THOMSON, the collector of Scottish melodies. In connection
with Burns, he did for Scottish music what Sir John Stevenson, in connection with Thomas
Tkloore, did for Irish music. He waf born in Fifeshire, about 1760, and died in Edinburgh,
Teb. 16, 1 8.1:3.
3.V?
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
1. A chieF
2. "And fast
8. Out - spoke
tain to
be- fore her
the bar - dy
high - lands bound, Cries,
fa - ther's men, Three
high - land wight, "I'll
"Boat - man do not
days we've fled to
go, my chief. I'm
tar-ry!
geth- er.
read - y ;
And I'll give thee a
For should he find us
It is not for your
sil - ver pound To
in the glen, My
sil - ver bright, But
row us o'er the
blood would stain the
for your win - some
fer- ry." "Now who be ye would cross Loughgyle this dark and storm - v
heather; His horse -man hard be - hind us ride, should they our steps dis
la- dy; And by my word, the bon - my bird in dan"- ger shall not
wa-ter?"
cov-er,
tar -ry,
Oh! I'm llie Chief of Ul
Then who will cheer my bon
So, though the waves are rag
va's Isle, And this Lord UI-Hn's daugh-ter.
ny bride, When they have slain her lov - er?"
ing white, I'll row you o'er the fer - ry."
By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking,
And in the scowl of Heaven each face
Grew dark, as they were speaking;
But still, as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew. drearer,
Adown the glen rode armed men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.
" Oh, haste thee, haste ! " the lady cries,
"Though tempests round us gather,
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father ! "
The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,
When, Oh ! too strong for human hand,
The tempest gathered o'er her.
And still they rowed amidst the roar •
Of waters fast prevailing,
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore,
His wrath was changed to wailing.
For sore dismayed, through storm and shadt
His child he did discover,
One lovely hand she stretched for aid,
And one was round her lover.
" Come back, come back ! " he cried in grief,
"Across this raging water,
And I'll forgive your highland chief,
My daughter! Oh, my daughter!"
'Twas vain, the loud waves lashed the shore,.
Return or aid preventing,
The waters wild went o'er his child,
And he was left lamenting!
KATHLEEN MAVOURSEEN.
KATHLEEN MAVOURNEEN.
333
THE words of this song are by ANNIE (BARRY) CRAWFORD, an English actress, who
was born in Bath in 1731, and died in 1801. The air is by F. W. NICHOLLS CROUCH,
born in England, about 1800. In 1817, he was violincellist in King's Theatre, London.
Afterward he taught music at Plymouth, where he composed this song, for the copy-
right of which he received £5. He came to the United States with an Italian opera
troupe in 1848, and settled in Portland, Maine. There he made many friends, and became
the instructor of some of the best singers. He was something of a naturalist, and orna-
mented his rooms with cages of live snakes. He was a sportsman also, and his game din-
ners and his wife's matinees were equally celebrated. He brought out Locke's music to
" Macbeth," and gave concerts with Arthurson, Frazier, and others. There is an answer
to "Kathleen Mavouraeen," entitled "Dermot Asthore" — the music by Crouch, and the
words by his friend, Desmond Eyan.
Crouch set to music a song written by Augustine J. H. Duganne, entitled "Her I Love,"
and was foolish enough to claim the authorship of the words also. He called it " a madri-
gal, after the style of the sixteenth century," and affected the ancient spelling. The first
stanza ran as follows :
I knowe a lyttle hande ;
'Tys ye softest yn ye lande,
And I feel yts pressure blande,
"Whyle I synge ;
Lylie whyte and restynge nowe
Lyke a rose-leafe on my browe,
As a dove myght f anne my browe
Wythe yts wynge.
Welle I prize all handes above,
Thys deare hande of herre I love.
The song was brought out by Arthurson, and became somewhat famous.
Crouch was utterly improvident. He was very free with his money whenever he had
it, and consequently seldom had any. It is said that he once assisted a needy Italian in
giving a concert, and finding that the receipts were rather meagre, amended the deficiency
somewhat by casting in his last ten-dollar bill. From Portland he went to Philadelphia,
where he established a sort of musical association. Just before the war he was teaching
music in Washington, and he is said to have died in Baltimore during the war, — but as
to this, there seems to be some doubt.
When Mile. Titiens sang in New York, she gave " Kathleen Mavourneen," in response
to an encore. Thereupon, a fellow, who in all probability was an impostor, made his way
to the stage, introduced himself as Crouch the composer, and with plentiful tears gave her
his thanks for rendering the song so finely.
£853 — l -:*«=
HS— F ^-I-1^ — — » — -* — 1
r-sr- *?-
@v' 124- #- —i
0 - $ W g
^f- — ••- — «
Kath - leen M
p — ^ — — i^ ix
a - vour - neen ' the grey dawn is break
- in"1 .. The
JL^-ijifc
! ~ '1 - - '-
V I/ 4 MM
: - 1 * m ' ' 1 ! * ' 0 1 '
•~j 0 * 0 '
? +
\
t ?-+ ' * 3+ +2
1 1 1
•v -+
rx. I, Q J
~7«, P «* £{ •
2_j24L— 'H-*
ty & &
(PiS=SE
334
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
horn
&
of the hun - ter is heard on the hill,
The
I — i — i — '
I3fc
"-^
lark, from her light wing, The bright dew is shak
ing,
*** * *
--* — -*--• —
::z^i
Kath-leen Ma - vour - neen ! what! slum - b'ring still?
**** *
•i*-
Oh hast thou for •
•&=—=££&
_**r
=F
ispress e legato.
»-= >- i
r r
KATHLEEN MAVOURNEEN.
335
mf
-*— -
^ST..
— * — ^
- got -ten how soon we must sev-er? Oh, hast tbou for -
-==£=--
_ j 1 — ^ — i — w — — 1-0 — i — «-
h* -*• -a- —t- -S^—t- •*•-*••*•
^^ -r ^ •*• j*- ^V
tir
^^^_^^=— ::H^^^"^"™T
-a( 1 — ^ ' — ' • I 0 > \ 0
•9- -t *-± •» -t •* -t •*
f ^*
^T*~I
-&:
-6>r±-
-&-.
=t
-?5*-.
•*-.
- got -ten, this day,
:d2i=*- -
^-t? — — -E:
p _
may be for - ev - er, Oh, why art thou si - lent, thou voice of my
heart? It may be for years, and it may be for -
- ev-er, Then why art thou si - lent, Kath - leen Ma- vour - neen?
336
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS-
mf
izEE?
' *
Kath - leen Ma- vour - neen! A- wake from thy slum-bars, The
-0 0-
:gi="
blue mountains glow in "... the sun's gold -en light; Ah!
— 7— y— jzzp — r-^ if— _—-T— -^ j i ;
.«— f— * 1 — J-- -• — 0—0 —-»—*• • — * — •• -« — • '
f Tt Z Jt ~< T -r f i TT
1
:*=;=: rr
tflf"~
where Is the spell that once hung on my numbers, A -
in thy beau-ty, thou star of my night,
A -
2=£; E3- 3=1
§1 H
-^
rise
in thy beau-ty, thou star of my night.
tempo.
2-
KATHLEEN MAVOURNEEN. 337
mf con arnore affetto.
rrrri
&-
3
Ma - vour - neen, Ma-
— 4—t—
r ,, | _ | -- --»
-trEt^i^j.— -4
rt * "*•
TT JV
T* *^*.r
r
?zm:
vouraeen, my sad tears are fall -ing, To think
-»— ^
that from
4 i" ~-$
-y ir -^
E - rin and thee I must part; It may be for years, and it
— _ > — i- | i i i iii—|— p— | i i i
i — i — T' - i — i
-I— « — -J— 1-» — 3—0 —
:n—
:C=
sempie legato.
•tf
may be for - ev - er, Then why art thou si - lent, thou voice of my
!:^»-4;
5^?
:g=z-bj — rgi1qFi=i=F^c=±^d=d
•5- =1 FJTS^ *i*5»3
(22)
339
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
Sempli. mfi ^T *»/
heart?
It may .
be for years, and it may be for -
kj. J. =3
pl-i 1
p=£
? — <&Tf :
&>•
-- «* •
- ev - er,
Then why.
art thou si - lent, Kath - leen Ma-vour - neen?
rail dim. p
J *. i 1 -
JEANNETTE AND JEANNOT.
THIS thoroughly Frenchy little song is the production of two Englishmen. CHARLES
JEFFERYS, who wrote the words, was born January 11, 1807, and died in London, June 9,
1865. In early life, he was clerk and book-keeper in a wine-merchant's office, but in 1835
he established a music-publishing business, which his sons still carry on. He wrote a great
number of songs and lyrics, and was prominent in English musical affairs for a quarter of
a century. He says in a memorandum, " The first guinea (literally a guinea, which I sold
for nineteen and sixpence), was paid me for ' Life is a Eiver/ in 1831."
" Jeannette and Jeannot" was suggested by a little bronze group, which Mr. Jefferys
afterward purchased, and which is still in the possession of the family. The English copies
of the song bear on the title-page an engraving representing this group.
CHARLES W. GLOVER, who set these words to music, was a brother of Stephen Glover.
He was a pupil of Thomas Cooke, a violin-player at Drury Lane, and finally musical direc-
tor of the Queen's Theatre. He was known in connection with much excellent musical
work, writing the words of a few, and the notes of innumerable songs. He was born
in 1807, and died in London, March, 1863, being precisely contemporary with his friend and
co-laborer, Jefferys.
Moderate.
yf% 2 K ^
^
• — N
^
IS
-X—
i-N
« •
r*
^ — &-
1. You are
2. Or when
go - ing far a - way,
glo - ry leads the way,
1 fc; —
Far a -
You'll be
_f ^ • * ? ! 5! ^_
I__Z y 1
way from poor Jeannette, There is
mad - ly rush - ing on, Nev - er
J '
T
^
— J
i
p
— 4
•
— •"
iS
- «
—0 — (-
L_-^__j_. — ^_J
5
-0 \
— *
~
i= 1
r
r
JEANNETTE AND JEANNOT.
£
O ^ rf iJ 1
no one left to love me now, And you too may for - get ;
think - ing if they kill you That my hap - pi - nejss is gone :
but my
If yon
_ g
Zf • • m * m
i
— r-=^
-ft—
s — to
— t =i — — f~\
g> C g g -S==E=
heart will be with you,
win the day, per - haps,
U =,=, 1 — _
Wher
A
"1
-^ P ^ «-
- ev - er you may
gen - er - al you'll
go, Can you
be, Tho' I'm
13
6»^*tt f
^^=.
P
| — 1 :
f?
J ,
— »
1
^
f3
fT2
I I
RA I* • J
- 11 --K
m m J
1 P !•
-0-. — j^— J — -*_
S^ * *
-J— — J J — f
that What will be -
me ? Oh ! if
— FV — 5 — ^ r
fr^ —4
—1 _ , "•"•SF^lEp
— ,^ - ^ ^
-j ^ * — \
^^^^ + * *
*| 3 * *
•^ ^^rz:
^
<*
fm~)*jfc \
— d M 2
i* f
£V^t ... ^
^
M ^ 1 =q
i j? 1
1 z± '
L_J _4 1
i — f
HHfr -fv- s -> •• f^-i
1— N
i ^ — ^~
- f* * r J' >s -
— T~T-
-f — r< — h — rr
wear the jack- et red,
I were Queen of France,
^—j^-H-^^F^
L_J__y_ ,_^_^^«L_T — m —
And the beau - ti- ful cock - ade,
Or, Btill bet - ter, Pope of Eome,
— t^ — E — b — 9 — 0 — +-
Oh, I fear you will for-
I would have no fight-ing
* —
h^
^ J: «1 ^ ^3
-0-
&•==£ *
-/,..-]
^ «^ P *1 1 I *1
— -js ,
p i J " '
_^_
• ^ "^~
TT
S"
340
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
f " \
l-£— £ N _
; M k 1^-
-» —
^ -get; All the prom-is - es you made; With the guu up- on your shoulder, And the
men a-broad, No weeping maids at home ; AH the world should bo at peace, Or if
-&-£ 1 — — i — — i — P^ 3 — I — ^^ — 3
T — 5j ^^^•"™ 9 !X «i v - -i >•• ' _J 1
, , — N ,
— K — ^ N si d — * ^
~T W 'J
i-
— j — * —
^=J
— 1
B
rr5
^f
^T — 3
T
•
L)* 1
T '
)>• o - ft - .
s — r°
-. M - P
1 ^ * J M
i * - r M
~~f — 1s — P* — J^
n D *l * r — : — p — t/ — ? — i^ — = — * — b — F — - — ^~
^r V V * - * V
bav' - net by your side, You'll be tak - ing some proud la - dy, And be
kings must show their might, Why let them who make the quar-rels Be the
^ J * • y-
mak- ing her your
on - Ir mm to
tf*\ H^""*
^ — i=rH~
— * — P"^""«—
1 f ]
J
J J ^
i
tjL^ t *> *"
1 k. S
'(•V** f^
2
1 J
|^7*t_
-1
— 2;
— ^i
~4 ^ <l 1 —
C5
1
r ^ ^ v v
/W f =1 * —
3 — * — a=
-* — ^ — 0
^ . ^
-^ — H
^ — -^ 1~
1''—
-t^—
— « — i
-* J—
=*—
bride; You'll be tak- ing some proud la - dy, And be mak- ing her your bride,
fight; Yes, let them who make the quar-rels Be the on - ly men to fight.
n *» . /TS /?v
JZS K
N
P
a
N, K
n
XL i *
c
•i j -
J
"1 •!
v|
jj
rh ' 2
H
•
«
J n J
2
HZ 3
Bi
j
a
^ 11
tJ *
-F *.
I r~» '
± -r -f- ^
K IV 1 ^
*" -F~
/>
• 2 «-m
f(*)g P s •
V^' 1
— 3—
—* 1
n—
^ =1 • =5—
:*= ^
^=fl
-r -?
l- Lt ^
:1^ 4- '4. .4 -"t-"1
THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA.
CONTEMPORARY literature has left us no pleasant picture of JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART, the
handsome and brilliant son-in-law of Sir Walter Scott. His pale, olive complexion, thinf
curling lips, and supercilious manner, contrast strongly with the great-hearted, genial Sir
Walter, and seem to ally him to the proud country whose ballads he gave us in some of
the most spirited translations ever made. Lockhart was born in the manse of Cambus-
nethan, Scotland, where his father was minister, on the 14th of July, 1794, and died at
Abbotsford, on the 25th of November, 1854. His Spanish ballad, " The Bridal of Andalla,"
was set to music by MRS. ARKWRIGHT, the sister of Mrs. Hemans.
? BRIDAL OF ANDALLA.
341
-4
w r; j^
1. Rise up, rise up, Xa - ri
2. A - rise, a - rise, Xa - ri
fa,
fa,
Lay your golden cush-ion down; Rise
I see An - dal - la's face ; He
— -\ — 2 -^^t :d — 3 =i '<-
d
s=3q=
S=EE
=i=^z=^- Ejl_i_j 5=^
— 1— ^TT * • • +- 9 ^^
up, come to the win - dow ; And gaze with all the town ; From
bends him to the peo - pie, With a calm and prince-ly grace ; Thro'
'
£
3— *•
I _^
^•l •*[•
^
-^2~
\ — a
^5^g^J_=l*E
=*:
— t:
— >-
gay gui -tar and vi - o - lin. The sil - ver notes are flow -ing;
all the land of Xe - ras, And banks of Gua - dal - quiv - er,
tfe
And the
Rode
4=r=:
love - ly lute doth speak be-tween The trum-pets lord - ly blow -ing;
forth bridegroom so brave as he, So brave and love - ly, uev - er :
And
Yon
1^
ban - ners bright from lat - tice light, Are wav - ing ev* - ry - where,
tall plume wav - ing o'er his brow, Of a - zure mix'd with white,
_? *—
And the
I
lllEBE^
342
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
tall tall plume Of the gay bridegroom. Floats proud - ly in the air. Rise
guess 'twas wreath'dby Za - ra, Whom he will wed to - night. Rise
up, come to the win - dow; And gaze with all the town:
3=n
" Rise up, rise up, Xarifa,
Lay your golden cushion down ;
Rise up, come to the window,
And gaze with all the town.
From gay guitar and violin,
The silver notes are flowing ;
And the lovely lute doth speak between,
The trumpet's lordly blowing ;
And banners bright from lattice light,
Are waving everywhere,
And the tall, tall plume of the gay bridegroom,
Floats proudly in the air.
Rise up, rise up, Xarifa,
Lay your golden cushion down,
Rise up, come to the window,
And gaze with all the town.
" Arise, arise, Xarifa !
I see Andalla's face ;
He bends him to the people,
With a calm and princely grace ;
Through all the land of Xeres,
And banks of Guadalquivir,
Rode forth bridegroom so brave as he,
So brave and lovely, never.
Yon tall plume waving o'er his brow,
Of azure mixed with white,
I guess 'twas wreathed by Zara,
Whom he will wed to-night.
Rise up, rise up, Xarifa,
Lay your golden cushion down,
Rise up, come to the window,
And gaze with all the town."
THE BRIDAL OF ANT) ALT,*.
343
" What aileth thee, Xarifa ?
What makes thine eyes look down ?
Why stay ye from the window, far,
Nor gaze with all the town ?
I've heard you say, on many a day,
And sure you said the truth,
Andalla rides without a peer,
'Mong all Granada's youth;
Without a peer he rideth,
And yon milk-white horse doth go
Beneath his stately master,
With a stately step and slow :—
Then rise — oh, rise ! Xarifa,
Lay the golden cushion down ;
Unseen here through the lattice,
You may gaze with all the town."
The Zegri lady rose not,
Nor laid her golden cushion down,
Nor came she to the window,
To gaze with all the town ;
And though her eyes dwelt on her knee,
In vain her fingers strove,
And though her needle pierced the silk,
No flower Xarifa wove.
One lovely rosebud she had traced,
Before the noise grew nigh,
That rosebud now a tear effaced,
Slow dropping from her eye.
" No, no ! " she cries, " bid me not rise,
Nor lay my golden cushion down,
To gaze upon Andalla,
With all the gazing town."
"Why rise ye not, Xarifa —
Nor lay your cushion down,
Why gaze ye not, Xarifa —
With all the gazing town?
Hark ! hear the trumpets how they swell,
And how the people crv!
He stops at Zara's palace gate !
Why sit you still, Oh why ? "
" At Zara's gate, stops Zara's mate,
In him shall I discover,
The dark-eyed youth who pledged his troth,
With tears, and was my lover.
I will not rise, with weary eyes,
Nor lay my golden cushion down;
To gaze on false Andalla,
With all the gazing town."
BONNIE BOON.
IN a letter to Mr. Thomson, BURNS says: " There is an air called 'The Caledonian
Hunt's Delight/ to which I wrote a song that you will find in Johnson. ' Ye banks and
braes 0' bonnie Boon/ niight, I think, find a place among your hundred, as Lear says of
his nights. Do you know the history of the air ? It is curious enough. A good many
years ago, Mr. James Miller, writer, in your good town, was in company with our friend,
Clarke ; and, talking of Scottish music, Miller expressed an ardent ambition to be able to
compose a Scots air. Mr. Clarke, partly by way of joke, told him to keep to the black
keys of the harpsichord, and preserve some sort of rhythm, and he would infallibly com-
pose a Scots air. Certain it is, that in a few days, Mr. Miller produced the rudiments of
an air which Mr. Clarke, with some touches and corrections, fashioned into the tune in
question. Eitson, you know, has the same story of the black keys; but this account I have
just given you, Mr. Clarke informed me of several years ago. Now, to show you how diffi-
cult it is to trace the origin of our airs, I have heard it repeatedly asserted that this was an
Irish air ; nay, I met with an Irish gentleman who affirmed that he had heard it in Ireland,
among the old women; while, on the other hand, a countess informed me that the first
person who introduced the air into this country, was a baronet's lady of her acquaintance,
who took down the notes from an itinerant piper, in the Isle of Man. How difficult, then,
to ascertain the truth respecting our poesy and music ! "
The Emperor Napoleon, perhaps, could not be expected to appreciate English music ;
but it is rather amusing to read, that when on the island of St. Helena, he said one day to
a lady with whom he was conversing, " The music of England is execrable ! They have
only one good melody — 'Ye Banks and Braes 0' Bonnie Doon."'
344
OUX FAMILIAE SONGS.
Here are some stanzas which were found among Burns' papers, after his death-
They are evidently the first form of " Bonnie Boon" :
Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae fu' o' care?
Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
That sings upon the bough ;
Thou mindst me o' the happy days
When my fause love was true.
Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
That sings beside thy mate ;
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist nae o' my fate.
Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon,
To see the woodbine twine;
And ilka bird sang o' its love,
And sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Frae aff its thorny tree ;
And my fause lover staw the rose,
But left the thorn wi' me.
The heroine of "Bonnie Boon" was Miss Kennedy, of Dalgarrock, whose false lover
was one M'Dougal, of Logan.
Andante.
£
^
1. Ye banks and braes o' bon-nie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair? How
2. Oft hae I rov'd by bon-nie Doon, To see the rose and woodbine twine ;Whcn
-i <\ — h — r*> i Is — -£
n MTrt
^
• —
SE
^S
i
can ye chaunt, ye lit - tie birds, And I sae wea- ry, fu' of care? Thou'
il - ka bird sang o» its love, And fond - ly sae did I o' mine. Wi'
—l v Pi N-i — h
tir^n
s±=$
J.
55
break my heart, thou warb- ling bird, That wan- tons through the flow' - ry thorn, Thou
some heart I pu'd a rose, Fu' sweet up- on its thorn - y tree; But
BONNIE DO ON.
345
mindst me o' de - part - ed joys, De - part - ed nev - er to re - turn,
my faune lov - er stole my rose, And, ah I he left the thorn wi' me.
atz:
BOUNDING BILLOWS, CEASE YOUR MOTION.
THE story of the authoress of the following song, is one of the saddest and most
romantic of all the o'er-true tales.
Mary Derby, the daughter of an American sea-captain, was born in Bristol, England,
in 1758. As a child (an only one), she was surpassingly beautiful and bright, and the
utmost care was bestowed upon her education and accomplishments. Her home stood
next to the Cathedral, and, when very young, she crept into the dim and solemn aisles, to
dream and write little melancholy poems. Her mates, in a school kept by two sisters of
Hannah More, were the future Mrs. John Kemble and a daughter of Mrs. Pritchard, the
great actress. At this time, she says : "My clothes were sent for from London; my fancy
was indulged to the extent of its caprices; I was flattered and praised into a belief that
J was a being of a superior order. To sing, to play a lesson on the harpsichord, to recite
an elegy, and to make doggerel verses, made the extent of my occupations." Her father
lost all his money in speculation, and, while he was at sea, Mrs. Derby removed to London,
and opened a small school. The husband suddenly re-appeared, broke up the school,
which he was pleased to term a degradation of his name, and left again, without doing
anything to support his family. Garrick saw the young girl, and was so delighted with
her beauty and histrionic gifts, that he wanted her to play Cordelia, in "Lear." Mrs.
Derby was horrified, and, just at this time, a young lawyer, named Eobinson, found access
to the house, and paid suit to Miss Mary. He brought tracts to the mother, and trinkets
to the daughter. The mother urged her child's union to a youth so pious and wealthy,
and when she was but fifteen years old, forced her into a marriage. Mary says : " My
heart, even when I knelt at the altar, was as free from any tender impression, as it had
been at the moment of my birth." Mr. Eobinson wished the marriage kept secret from
his family, but Mrs. Derby would not consent, and the pair were sent into Wales to visit
them. A terrible visit it proved to the poor bride. She found that her husband was
an illegitimate child, and the family had turned him off. They returned to London, where
the husband added dissipation to meanness, and soon their home was sold for debt, and Mr.
Kobinson was thrown into prison. Mary took up her abode there with him, bringing her
infant daughter. Courtly lovers had never forgotten the beauty of the young bride, and
in her distress she was sought and sued; but, she says: "During nine months and three
weeks, never once did I pass the threshold of our dreary habitation, though every effort was
made to draw me from my scene of domestic attachment." Among her admirers, came
the actors, and now the idea of going upon the stage for a livelihood presented itself.
She appeared as Juliet, and "the beautiful Mrs. Eobinson" became tbe rage. She had.
346 OUK FAMILIAR SONGS.
performed two seasons, with great success, when the king and queen summoned her to
play for them, Perdita, in the "Winter's Tale." As she appeared in the greenroom, there
was a burst of admiration among the players, and the marked attention of the Prince of
Wales, afterward George IV., then " the first gentleman in Europe," confused and troubled
her. From that time, the prince pursued her with daily letters, and every form of flattery;
but for months she refused to see him, and worked on to support a husband whose
ill-treatment of her stood out in painful relief where everybody else was kind. At last
came a minature of the prince, with the motto, Je ne change qu'en mourant, and she met
him, only to love him with all the strength of her deep, but untrained nature. One more
dark spot, on a character that has little relief of brightness, is seen in the prince's treat-
ment of "Perdita." In the midst of lavish words of tenderness, came his "We meet no
more;" and she is left to brave the hatred of the people, and actual want, without a sign
from him.
Here is her own account of some of her experiences on the stage : " The greenroom
and orchestra (where Mr. Garrick sat during' the night) were thronged with critics.
When I approached the side- wing my head throbbed convulsively ; I then began to feel my
resolution would fail, and I leaned upon the nurse's arm, almost fainting. Mr. Sheridan
and several other friends encouraged me to proceed ; and at length, with trembling limbs
and fearful apprehension, I approached the audience. The thundering applause that
greeted me, nearly overpowered all my faculties ; I stood mute and bending with alarm,
which did not subside till I had feebly articulated the few sentences of the first short
scene, during the whole of which I had never once ventured to look at the audience. The
second scene being the masquerade, I had tune to collect myself. I never shall forget the
sensation which rushed through my bosom, when I first looked toward the pit. I beheld
a gradual ascent of heads ; all eyes were fixed on me ; and the sensation they conveyed
was awfully impressive ; but the keen and penetrating eyes of Mr. Garrick, darting their
lustre from the centre of the orchestra, were beyond all others the objects most conspicu-
ous. As I acquired courage, I found the applause augment, and the night was con-
cluded with peals of clamorous approbation. * * * The second character which I played
was Amanda in 'A Trip to Scarborough.' The play was based upon Yanbrugh's 'Relapse/
and the audience supposing it was a new piece, on finding themselves deceived, expressed
a considerable degree of disapprobation. I was terrified beyond imagination, when Mrs.
Yates, no longer able to bear the hissing of the audience, quitted the scene and left me
alone to encounter the critic tempest. I stood for some moments as though I had been
petrified. Mr. Sheridan, from the side-wing, desired me not to quit the boards ; the late
Duke of Cumberland, from the side-box, bade me take courage — 'It is not you but the
play, they hiss/ said his Royal Highness. I curtsied, and that curtsey seemed to electrify
the whole house, for a thundering peal of encouraging applause followed ; the comedy was.
suffered to go on, and is to this hour a stock play at Drury-Lane Theatre."
At the age of twenty-four, while travelling abroad, she went to sleep in her carriage,
with the windows open, and the result was a violent cold, rheumatism, and a complete
paralysis of her limbs. A woman, writing some time after, gives this remembrance of a
glimpse of her : " On a table, in one of the waiting-rooms of the opera-house, was seated a
woman of fashionable appearance, still beautiful, but not in the bloom of beauty's pride.
She was not noticed, save by the eye of pity. In a few moments two liveried servants
came to her, and took from their pockets long, white sleeves, which they drew on their
arms; they then luted her up and conveyed her to her carriage— it was the then helpless
paralytic, 'Perdita,'"
She wrote novels and poetry, which she published under the pseudonym of " Perdita."
.Neglected by aU her noble friends, after years of suffering, she died in 1799.
BOUNDING JULLOWS, CEASE YOUR MOTION.
I I I II «*i /r\
347
3fcwFl
W--
1.
2.
3.
Sfflffi
J— * r
-\-f — :irT
IHTTJ " jH3~3 '"*' I * '
i
o'
rci
11 1
— W
|
(A
la
Vh
•
t
* -'-4^
ir -i'ng,
oud re -
j't and
•
Boundin
Ah ! wi
Proud ha
1
? billows,
th-in my
s been my
ii=y
cease your
bo-som
fa - tal ]
t m
:^S
-*•
no-tion, I
beating, ^
)as-sion ; 1
*\
iear me not so swift - ly
Varying pas-sions wild - ly
'roudmy injured heart sha
1 !
J~gesa£ — 1=
-»• .
er;
gn;
>e; "V
<Tv
0— ; 1
r~ «f
* *_J.<i
r rdt
use thy ro
ye, with pr
ile each th
ft I
11 ft
it — ! — L
•0r
1 ' I1
— M-t
i
j
-*- * -
w*
r*
1 * *
1 ii ~m
0 J 1 J
~it
m
1
-- — H
{fn~**
9 fc
\ 1*
! ' * *
--: *-
i
|
* ' *
3L_
foam - y o - cean,
- sent - ment meet-ing,
in - cli - na - tion,
jut-f- r T «
Cease thy roar - ing,
Love with proud re
While each tho't anc
J J- • 0-
•0-
foam-y o-cean,
- sentment meeting,
in - cli - ua - tion,
1
t — ~# «
I will tempt th
Throbs by turns wi
Still shall prove m
pM=«*=*
r -*1-
T rage no more.
;h joy and pain.
e worth - y thee.
1— T-^— r
— -5—* z2—
jr
Xj4^
1 1
1 i
J_i
j£
-t !
^— 1\
Yet believe no servile passion,
Seeks to charm thy vagrant mind;
Well I know thy inclination,
Wavering as the passing wind.
Far I go, where fate may lead me ;
Far across the troubled deep,
Where no strangers e'er can heed me,
Where no eye for me shall weep.
Not one sigh shall tell my story ;
Not one tear my cheek shall stain,
Silent grief shall be my glory —
Grief that stoops not to complain. . ,
When with thee, what ill could harm me?
Thou couldst every pang assuage ;
But, when absent, nought could charm me —
Every moment seemed an age.
ROLL ON, SILVER MOON.
ONE of the most familiar of all familiar songs, is the plaintive little one which follows.
It is of English origin, and, while both words and air are old, the former, except in a few
lines, are very ancient. But we really owe the song to an American, JOSEPH W. TURNER,
of Boston; for the words had never been set to, or associated with the melody until, about
1842, he united them, and adapted them to the voice and the piano-forte. So that, earlier
than that, it was not the present "Koll on, Silver Moon." It was published in 1847.
Mr. Turner, was bora in Charlestown, Mass., July 9, 1818. From childhood, he was
excessively fond of music, but circumstances were unfavorable to a development of that
taste, or to his securing the necessary education. He was the ninth child in a family of
eleven ; and, when fourteen years old, he began to work in the Boston Type-Foundry.
Two years later, he assumed the care of the family, and continued to maintain it, until the
death of his parents, fourteen years later, caused a separation of the household.
Meantime, he was prosecuting musical and other studies, and, in 1851, he accepted
the post of music-teacher, in the Melrose Classical Seminary, which he held until the
seminary was removed to Beading. He was also church organist during that time, and
many of his evenings were devoted to giving concerts in aid of charitable objects. In
1857, Mr. Turner became musical editor of the Waverley Magazine ; he afterward returned
to the foundry, but since 1863 has given his entire time to the study and practice of his
art, as a teacher and composer of vocal and instrumental music. In 1852, he published
a small volume of songs, ballads, and music for the flute and violin, entitled, " The
348
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
Minstrel's Gift." During the war, a large number of Northern troops, who were prisoners
near Tyler, Texas, organized a company of sappers and miners, and had a tunnel in progress,
when news came that Banks was within one hundred and fifty miles. Fifteen adventurous
souls, feeling that the under-ground route was too tedious, completed the undermining of
one of the great logs that composed the stockade, and succeeded, on a rainy evening, in
fastening a rope around the log. A band of musical comrades gathered in a distant part
of the encampment, and, just as the rope was drawn in, and the men rushed through the
opening, the clouds rolled away, and the singers broke out into : —
" Roll on, Silver Moon,
Guide the traveller ou his way."
m
1. As I stray'd from my cot at the close of the day, 'Mid the rav-ishing beau-ties of June, 'Xeath a
2. As the hart on the mountainmy lov-erwas brave, So no- ble and man- ly and clev - er, So
3. But, a - lasl he is dead, and gone to death's bed,— Cut down like arose in full bloom; And a-
Andante.
fef* —
|f x f x 1
3=*=i
i X
>
X J X
p x f x —
JJJ J Jp
att
^
jes- sa-mine shade I es - pied a fair maid, And she plain-tive-ly sigh'd to the moon.
kind and sin - cere, and he loved me full dear, Oh, my Edwin, his e- qual was nev - er!
-lone doth he sleep, while I thus sad- ly weep 'Neath thy soft sil-ver light, gen- tie moon.
oll on, silver moon, point the trav'ler his way, While the nightingale's song is in tune; I
m
f y *-
L i . i
Cw.
/j
dim.
nev-er, never more with my true love will stray By thy soft sil-vcr beams, gen - tie moon.
His lone grave I'll seek out until morning
appears,
And weep o'er my lover so brave ;
I'll embrace the cold sod, and bathe with my tears,
The sweet flowers that bloom o'er his grave.
Ah, me ! ne'er again may my bosom rejoice,
For my lost love I fain would meet soon ;
And fond lovers will weep o'er the grave where
we sleep,
'Neath thy soft silver light, gentle moon.
WE MET, 'TWAS IN A CROWD.
WE MET, 'TWAS IN A CROWD.
349
BOTH the words and the music of this song, are the composition of THOMAS HAYNES
BAYLY.
fe-*— J—
• — 1\ -p; ~
P t -* E
=f— £ H-
^ ~0~ ? -N
tr- — * — — *— — * — 0 —
1. "We met — 'twas in a crowd— And I thought he would shun me; He
2. And once a - gain wo met, And a fair girl was near him ; He
TO"4"^ —
r« — J »
3 i T — -
1* — hi "
— — i— — i — i i i —
«y
r f r f r ' r ' r ' T '
•*• * * w
9F» * .^
r— J r r 1
j t j j . J
*")vffo — ^ —
3 r i —
1 f
_j — ^ — i — > — A
<4
1 *
- 1 * — 1
* A A
s: L_^ 9 !_^ ^_ 1_0 ,
~a ^
£tEE3E^
i^P
came — I could not breathe,
smil'd and whis - per'd low,
For his eye was up
As I once used to
on me; He
hear him; She
ji-£ — i p_ — P—
-r--t— r — f-
£
1 ,
$& — ^— s — — Js — J —
A — Is J—
• _
!
— * *! i £ —
spoke, his words were cold, And his smile
leant up - on his arm — Once 'twas mine,
/-, J* * * * * ...
-\j~Sr — , -K — 1 v ~\ 1
was
and
•™"^™
V
un - al - ter'd; I
mine on - ly— I
— ^P^ — r ,
if TT — ~i f
4 — i — J—
~J~J
H=J-
\ I/
_^_,
•J T ? T ? -r ? -r ? -r * -r ?
r \ ' r \ r \ r \ r * '
1 I 1 1 i j ill <, |
* -*• * m 0 m
1
\
X J \ \
1 II!
J 1
i
-i—
• ^
m
— 0 — a — — L_^ 0 -.
i—0 —
•*•
~yn ». — "^ ~^ "* '
^- — _l 1
1 B— ^-5
(TO" *~* -r *
* .f " .* v ..
= — : — i — i
•* • : •— ^
»/ * •
knew how much he felt, For his deep - toned voice
wept, for I de - serv'd To feel wretch - ed and
fal - ter'd; I
lone - ly; And
-n— H — i — 1
^ rr rr r
• r r r r f r r
— -j •—1—0 ~
Ej — •-
\
cyf -1 *
,
— f —
^_f^_J . q
E "• -^ * • *
• A *
1 - •* -• — 3
350
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
l£* .
— — a «
, *_
-*-==>-*=?-
— , — P £JJp
— *r*~
(m f . -
wor
she
i
V \f
B my bi
will b(
t "i — i
— V-
•i - dal
s his
™ 1
E — J-5-^ — =5
robe, And I
bride ! At the
_£_^ e ,_,_
ri - val'd its
.al - tar he'll
white-ness ! Bright
give her, The
S1-^
J •' J :
Hk-
-*• * * -*• "*
U^ui' g|
p
I-— I
J
\ \
H j j— j
1 —
-»•
•2
i
I* J
i*
j/ « • , -• *i> -f * v^ . 0
r~ f1 — ***s^ —
- • i • *
gems were in my hair, How I hat • ed their bright - ness ! He
love that was too pure For a heart - less de - ceiv - er; The
11 /*?•>
XL. — | ^-1
\ — 9
'~T~
r H MM <^l
\ \-"0 j'- \ 0 ~
LL 9
•* * ^-
•jt- -*•
^ 1— 1 ~
[-* — 1 1 — J— *—
1 i i
i— • —
— i — -• — zj
m i
j
1 1
ffn — *~T~ ~i* — * — *~
— * i —
^ «
.-0 — * — 0
1— — *• P —
^z__ __^_
call'd me by my
world may think me
oft "•
jk*—T i—
name — A
gay, Fo
>
i — '
* the
r my
>ride of an
feel - ings I
1 1 1 r
- oth - er— Ohl
smoth - er — Oh I
P * *
* f -r \ *
• r
4-J
9 • 0
P '^^^^M I
i
J '
1
1
r — 3 i 1 1
^^3 4 1
l .
-1— 4
i— « «
—0
ad lib.
«b — w —
— jfe • r^. —
1 fi H- -
— j H
thou hast been the
thou hast been the
It* T —t 1
cause of this
cause of this
. » •
~3~
**
,
an - guish, my
an - guish, my
-j- — — J — B
moth - er !
moth - er !
— h= fl
•F . •+•+•• -0- f
! ! ! 1 '. 1
-9- ~9-
r .' r r r '
-r-^
'.T "m
»• ^ : n
n ,
H
| colla voce.
, 0 1
Ezp "EEH
1~
1" * ^
3E =£3
AND YE SHALL WALK IN SILK ATTIRE.
AND YE SHALL WALK IN SILK ATTIRE.
351
THE words of this song are by SUSANNA BLAMIRB, who wrote "What ails this Heart o'
mine?" and they are set to the favorite Scottish air of " The Siller Crown."
1. And ye shall walk in silk at - tire, And sil - ler ha'e to spare,
2. The mind whose mean- est wish is pure, Far dear - er is to me ; . .
3. His mind and man-ners wan my heart, He grate - fu' took the gift,.-.
Gin
And
And
ye'll con - sent to be my bride, Nor think on Don - aid
ere I'm forced to break my faith, I'll lay me down and
did I wish to see it back, It wad be waur than
mair-... O,
dee For
theft;... For
— U-t- =^ I p~
wad buy a silk - en gown, Wi' a poor brok •
ha'e vow'd a vir - gin's vow, My lov - er's fate
est life can ne'er re - pay The love he bears
en
to
to
heart?,
share : .
me,...
Or
And
And
£
352 OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
THOU HAST WOUNDED THE SPIRIT
THAT LOVED THEE.
ONE of the most familiar of all familiar songs, is the one beginning "Thou hast
wounded the Spirit that loved thee." It was written and composed by MRS. PORTER,
mother of the present Admiral of the United States Navy. She not only concealed her
authorship of the song, but even modestly withheld from publication a stanza which,
from its beauty, I take special pleasure in restoring to its place. I am indebted for the
lines, to the excellent memory of Mrs. Farragut, widow of the Admiral.
Like the sunbeams that play on the ocean,
In tremulous touches of light,
Is the heart in its early emotion,
Illumined with visions as bright.
Yet oftimes beneath the waves swelling.
A tempest will suddenly come,
All rudely and wildly dispelling
The love of the happiest home.
:£ ^ ~* ~ft . n
*£ESEE*=
9
1. Thou hast wounded the spir - it that lov'd thee,
2. Thus we're taught in this cold world to smother,
And cher-ish'd thine im - age for
Each feel - ing that once was so
y-yy 3*3 *s s S 3
years ;
dear;
^
Thou hast taught me at last to for - get thee.
Like that young bird, I'll seek to dis - cov - cr,
In
A
if
- — 9
^
ge - cret, in si - lence and
home of af - fee -tion else
tears*;
where
As a young bird when left by its
Tho' this heart may still cling to thee
THOU HAST WOUNDED THE SPIRIT THAT LOVED THEE.
353
moth-et,
fond-ly,
Its ear - li - est pin - ions to try, . .
And dream of sweet mem - o -rles past, •
fe
:£^
'Round the
Yet
—m * ^ — j —
1
-9 *-
*f=-
-jfo .._ K ~~fr~-is "N i* N
nest will still lin - ger - iug hov - er,
hope, like the rain - bow of sum -mer,
j=j=
Ere its tremb - ling wings can
Gives a promise of Lethe at
~H T-T£— g-i-3i±f~f^~:B
j , •? «r i
ffiS - * ' * 0 0 ,—+, J
* 0 1 ' • I
last •••!•••••• Tho' this heart may still cling to thee
fond-ly, And
^-tf1-? — ^ —*f — — "3 * — j — j; — ? — ^ — j—
— ^ 1— — 1 ^ -1^
^ iiii -^-^ **
i i
1 1 44
~ — ^ — j — if— i
?F-^ ' — * 1 -[-J ^ -j :
_* 1 £_ 5_|
fc ^ N; »
—0—0 •—
ear - li -est pin - ions to
dream of sweet mem - o-ries
try,..
past,.
'Round the nest will still lin -ger -ing
Yet hope, like the rain-bow of
354
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
OH NO, WE NEVER MENTION HER!
THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY wrote this little song after lie had been repulsed by the
parents of his first love. Each afterward married "another." Henry Phillips, the
English singer, says in his pleasant " Recollections," that Mr. Bayly called his attention to
the ballad, and adds : " The poetry was well adapted to my feelings, for I was desperately
in love, at that time, with at least a dozen whose names were never heard. I felt I could
give full expression to the ballad, so sang it, and the effect it produced was indeed great ;
I was always encored in this song. It was evident to all that I sang it with peculiar
pathos, and I seemed so deeply affected, that the audience invariably brought me back
again, to witness my misery ! This ballad put thousands of pounds into the pockets of the
publisher; a profit in which, I am sorry to say, I did not in any degree participate." The
song has been rendered into German, Latin, Italian, French, and Spanish, by different trans-
lators. Archdeacon Wrangham, who made the Latin translation, turned many others of
Mr. Bayly's songs into the same language. The air to which it is set is French, and was
arranged by SIR HENRY KOWLEY BISHOP.
s
1. Oh, no, wenev-er men - tion her I Her name is nev-er heard;
2. They bid me seek, in change of scene, The charms that others see,
My
But,
3i=£
lips are now for - hid to speak That once fa - mil - iar word,
were I in a for - eign land, They'd find no change in me.
From
'Tis
OH NO, WE NEVER MENTION HER!
35.5
m
sport to sport they hur - ry me, To ban - iah my re - gret,
true that I be - hold no more The val-ley where we met,
And
I
For oh ! there are so many things
Recall the past to me ;
The breeze upon the sunny hills,
The billows of the sea ;
The rosy tint that decks the sky,
Before the sun is set,
Aye, every leaf I look upon,
Forbids me to forget.
They tell me she is happy now,
The gayest of the gay ;
They hint that she forgets me,
But heed not what they say:
Like me, perhaps, she struggles
With each feeling of regret,
But if she loves as I have loved,
She never can forget !
ROBIN At) AIR,
EGBERT AD AIR was born in Ireland, about 1715. He was educated as a surgeon, and
practised in Dublin ; but, being involved in a scandalous affair, was compelled to quit the
country, and went to England. Near Holyhead occurred the first of a series of incidents,
which finally gave him the title of " the fortunate Irishman." The carriage of a lady of
fashion was overturned, and Adair ran to her assistance. Being somewhat hurt, she
requested him to travel with her to London, and on their arrival there, she gave him a
fee of a hundred guineas, and a general invitation to her house. There he met LADY
CAROLINE KEPPEL, second daughter of the second Earl of Albemarle, and sister of the
celebrated Admiral Keppel.
Lady Caroline is said to have fallen in love with Adair at first sight. Adair promptly
followed up his advantange, to the dismay of her family, who tried every possible expedi-
ent to break off her attachment. These included several journeys, on one of which, at
Bath, she is said to have written the words of this song, and set them to a tune which she
had heard him sing. The air is claimed by both the Irish and the Scotch.
356
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
The family finally gave up their opposition, when they saw that her health was
affected ; the lovers were married. After a few happy years, the lady died, leaving three
children. Adair (who never married again) was a. favorite of George III., and was made,
successively, Inspector General of Military Hospitals, Surgeon General, King's Sergeant
Surgeon, and Surgeon of Chelsea Hospital. He died in 1790. Their only son, the Eight
Honorable Sir Robert Adair, G. C. B., died in 1855, at the age of ninety-two. He was
distinguished as a diplomatist, and is said to have been the original of the character of
fiogero, in Canning's " Rovers."
__^
=F=
iz*, *:
n
1. What's this dull town
2. What made th'as - sem
3. But now thou'rt cold
to me? Ro - bin's not near,
bly shine? Ro - bin A • dair.
to me, Ro - bin A - dair.
g=F3=¥
^
Jt-t* 1 1 1
— • — — w * —
--+ —i— -\
J 40
i !
*
\S \J 4 *
i '^ |
i
«/
What was't I
What made the
But now thou'rt
wish'd to see,
ball so fine?
cold to me,
What wish'd to
Rob - in was
Rob - in A -
1 J *f J •» j «
hear?
there,
dair.
^, t? *— — >
\
f ' : f
• '
K > ^
— r > 3
— b * —
0 A i
*- '7 J" '-| J
( 1
i
:^—
* 0
-0—
1 M
-* * — I
•=£=*]
[— 1 S r
^==
•V
j ^_j
— 5^. —
^E*—
f-*-! J_^_
bj— rrf~"i
Where's all the joy and mirth Made this town a heav'n on earth ? Oh, they're all
What, when the play was o'er, What made my heart so sore? Oh, it was
Yet he I lov'd so well Still in my heart shall dwell ; Oh, I can
-*'• »—
^^f
zt
SHE .
flV ^"^
Ut /'^i.K J*/
ei ,
fUJf 7 JiA' LAND. 35-j-
JL[£_,_-.
-t * ~
==!?*-T
-£*
6
•"
1 ti
fled
part
ne'er
^ L
with thee,
- ing with
for - get
Ro -
Ro -
Ro -
bin
bin
bin
A
A -
A
dair.
dair.
dair.
_' II
*-• ,*-• +-£!• -ft-
3t£-
^
-•-
- -' 1 i ' *'
F
' > 11
— • — *f-
-H-
£± ^t KJ_
TF
£j
-+
^ i
f _,
r f* « -? r-^
^fr(7 E
m - *l
— ^ — g-
_* §^_.
—
>—
-f-?-*-?-h-?-
1 II
*^— p iS>-±
I '
i
A
"* -7!S-
SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND.
THOMAS MOOEE sang his own songs with such effect, that singer and listener often
wept together. He had selected the sweetest airs of his country, and had versified senti-
ments that would suit them, in a mood suggested by them, and it was a great trial to him
that choking sobs would overwhelm him when he most longed for self-control. After the
loss of his children he was often afraid to attempt pathetic music. The song of his which
follows commemorates the love and sorrow of a beautiful girl, and her lover. The lady
was Miss Sarah Curran, and the lover was Eobert Emmet. Washington Irving thus tells
the story:
"Every one must recollect the tragical story of young E , the Irish patriot; it
was too touching to be soon forgotten. During the troubles in Ireland, he was tried, con-
demned, and executed, on a charge of treason. His fate made a deep impression on public
sympathy. He was so young — so intelligent — so generous — so brave — so everything
that we are apt to like in a young man. His conduct under trial, too, was so lofty and
intrepid. The noble indignation with which he repelled the charge of treason against his
country — the eloquent vindication of his name — and his pathetic appeal to posterity,
in the hopeless hour of condemnation — all these entered deeply into every generous
bosom, and even his enemies lamented the stern policy that dictated his execution.
" But there was one heart, whose anguish it would be impossible to describe. In hap-
pier days and fairer fortunes, he had won the affections of a beautiful and interesting girl,
the daughter of a late celebrated Irish barrister. She loved him with the disinterested
fervor of a woman's first and early love. When every worldly maxim arrayed itself
against him; when blasted in fortune, and disgrace and danger darkened around his name,
she loved him the more ardently for his very sufferings. If, then, his fate could awaken
the sympathy even of his foes, what must have been the agony of her whose whole soul
was occupied by his image ! Let those tell who have had the portals of the tomb suddenly
closed between them and the being they most loved on earth — who have sat at its thresh-
old, as one shut out in a cold and lonely world, whence all that was most lovely and loving
had departed.
"To render her widowed situation more desolate, she had incurred her father's
displeasure by her unfortunate attachment, and was an exile from the paternal
roof. The Irish are a people of quick and generous sensibilities. The most delicate
and cherishing attentions were paid her by families of wealth and distinction. She
was led into society, and they tried by all kinds of occupation and amusement to dis-
sipate her grief, and wean her from the tragical story of her love. But it was all in vain.
358
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
She never objected to frequent the haunts of pleasure, but was as much alone there as In
the depths of solitude; walking about in a sad reverie, apparently unconscious of the
world around her. She carried with her an inward woe that mocked at all the blandish-
ments of friendship, and ' heeded not the song of the charmer, charm he never so wisely.'
" The person who told me her story, had seen her at a masquerade. There can be no
exhibition of far-gone wretchedness, more striking and painful, than to meet it in such a
scene. To find it wandering like a spectre, lonely and joyless, where all around is gay — to
see it dressed out in the trappings of mirth, and looking so wan and woe-begone, as if it
had tried in vain to cheat the poor heart into a momentary forgetfulness of sorrow. After
strolling through the splendid rooms and giddy crowd, with an air of utter abstraction, she
sat herself down on the steps of an orchestra, and, looking about for some time with a
vacant air, that showed her insensibility to the garish scene, she began, with the capricious-
ness of a sickly heart, to warble a little plaintive air. She had an exquisite voice; but on
this occasion it was so simple, so touching, it breathed forth such a soul of wretchedness,,
that she drew a crowd, mute and silent, around her, and melted every one into tears.
" The story of one so true and tender could not but excite great interest in a country
remarkable for enthusiasm. It completely won the heart of a brave officer, who paid his
addresses to her, and thought that one so true to the dead could not but prove affec-
tionate to the living. She declined his attentions, for her thoughts were irrevocably
engrossed by the memory of her former lover. He, however, persisted in his suit. He
solicited not her tenderness, but her esteem. He was assisted by her conviction of his
worth, and her sense of her own destitute and dependent situation, for she was existing
on the kindness of friends. In a word, he at length succeeded in gaining her hand, though
with the solemn assurance that her heart was unalterably another's.
" He took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a change of scene might wear out the
remembrance of early woes. She was an amiable and examplary wife, and made an effort
to be a happy one ; but nothing could cure the silent and devouring melancholy that had
entered into her very soul. She wasted away, in a slow, but hopeless decline, and at
length sunk into the grave, the victim of a broken heart."
MKP !> * -j*-^ — E3E
H — r=4 — ^E
-t — M^ — i ?— *H
^y W • 1. B /
^ "
lov - era a - round her are
note which he loved a -
-9-b —|
I/ C5^
sigh - ing; But
wak - ing; Ah!
1 1^ 1 *i
s ^ ^ ^ / j
cold - ly she turns from their
lit - tie they think, who de-
1 1
T* 4j_ _jj- 1
4 j J
•*- -f- -*-
-r-- -^~
?. ^:
JH5T~~J~ ~i~ "j'n
rJ — ^~i ==
rJ. J. -|
M> i? S • -^«- -t-
•4- • -4-
Lj — ^_I 1
'i: 1 J
SHE 16' FAB FJtOM
LAND.
359
gaze,
-light in
and weeps, for her heart
her strains, How the heart
his grave is
the rain - strel is
iy
break
ng-
ing.
teneramente.
1
He had lived for his love, for his country he
died,
They were all that to life had entwined him;
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
Nor long will his love stay behind him.
Oh ! make her a grave where the sun-beams rest,
When they promise a glorious morrow;
They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the
West,
From her own loved island of sorrow.
HIGHLAND MARY.
THE true " Highland Mary" of EGBERT BURNS was Mary Campbell, a servant in a gen-
tleman's family in Mauchline. She had unusual mental gifts, and a sweet disposition.
Burns describes the last parting which took place between them : " After a pretty long
tract of the most ardent reciprocal attachment, we met by appointment on the second
Sunday of May, in a sequestered spot on the banks of Ayr, where we spent a day in taking
farewell before she should embark for the West Highlands, to arrange matters among her
friends for our projected change of life. At the close of the autumn following, she crossed
the sea to meet me at Greeuock, where she had scarce landed, when she was seized with a
malignant fever, which hurried my dear girl to the grave before I could even hear of her
illness."
Allan Cunningham tells us still further: "The adieu was performed with all those
simple and striking ceremonies which rustic sentiment has devised to prolong tender
emotions, and to inspire awe. The lovers stood on each side of a small purling brook ;
they laved their hands in its limpid stream, and, holding a Bible between them, pronounced
their vows to be faithful to each other." The Bible is preserved in a room which occupies
the lower portion of Burns's monument on the River Doon.
In 1842, twelve thousand people assembled at Greenock, to witness the laying of the
corner-stone for a monument to "Highland Mary." Burns says of the song: "It pleases
myself; I think it is in my happiest manner. You will see at first glance that it suits the
air. The subject of the song is one of the most interesting passages of my youthful days,
and I own that I should be much flattered to see the verses set to an air which would
ensure celebrity. Perhaps, after all, 'tis the still growing prejudice of my heart that throws
a borrowed lustre over the composition."
The poet has gained the "prejudice" of all hearts, as is attested by Whittier's
sentiment :
Give lettered pomp to teeth of time,
So " Bonnie Doon," but tarry;
Blot out the epic's stately rhyme,
But spare his " Highland Mary."
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
-f*.
Lento.
F rn — M
i j 1*3 1 HI
- — r J1 pg^
i . si ,^|
u
^ t « . j-' j • — * — = — * '^ 4 — ES^ — f- — /— -^=g « • r
1. Ye banks and braes, and streams a-round The cas - tie o' Mont -
2. How sweet - ly bloom'd the gay green birk How rich the hawthorn's
• l\ •*» 1 "._!... Sf I"""5 41 ~
gom-e-ry, Green
bios- som, As
~t~~ ~x — ^
r
* t* x
W
-fr /> N* —
^
— 1 — 5 —
— 1 — f-:J
-^r-. ? 1
-*- -
i \»
i-
,' (, x
1— 15>
Sp J "
J . ^ ^ 1
be your woods and fair your flow'rs, Your wa - ters nev - er drum - lie I There
an - "der-neath their f ra - grant shade I clasp'd her to my bos - om I The
P^
sim - mer first un - faulds her robes, And there they lang - est tar - ry, For
gold- en hours, on an - gel wings, Flew o'er me ana my dear - ie; For
there I took the last fare - well O' my sweet High - land Ma - ry.
dear to me as light and_ life Was my sweet High- land Ma - ry.
I
m
=sa
Wi' mony a vow and locked embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender ;
And pledging aft to meet again,
We tore ourselves asunder :
But, oh ! fell death's untimely frost
That nipt my flower sae early !
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay
That wraps my Highland Mary.
O pale, pale now those rosy lips
I aft hae kissed sae fondly ;
And closed for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly;
And mouldering now in silent dust
That heart that lo'ed me dearly !
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.
SONGS OF HAPPY LOVE,
Oh, there are looks and tones that dart
An instant sunshine through the heart,
As if the soul that minute caught
Some treasure it through life had sought.
— Thomas Moore.
" And yet, my one lover,
Fve conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night."
&F.f'&e sycamore passed he, and through the white clover,
And all the sweet speech I had fashioned, took flight.
But I'll love him more, md* e,
Than e'er wife loved bef or ?5
Be the days dark or brigat-
— Jean Ingelow.
Our hearts ever answer in tune and in time, love,
As octave to octave, and rhyme unto rhyme, love.
— Joseph Brena*.
SONGS OF HAPPY LOVE.
THE autho
MILNES (Lord ]
Yorkshire, Jun
ae soon espous
for criminals, e
The melod
^rf¥=^
fm~" J*~~'
THE BROOKSIDE.
r of this drawing-room favorite of twenty years ago, is EICHAED MONCKTON
ioughton), the English poet, politician, and prose- writer. He was bora in
3 19, 1809. He was graduated at Cambridge, and entered Parliament, where
ed the liberal side, advocating popular education, religious equality, reform
tc. He visited this country in 1875, and died in London, Aug. 11, 1885.
y which suits these picturesque words so well, was composed by JAMES HINE.
-1 -*? -fc-
3 -N-
.__ P _ (y
^ ^. ^
•L -• EZZJS!
••^T — r~
-* w *—
-* —
•-—%£=$—^ i
\> u 3LZHJ
J - •
^^^M^IMM
1. I
wan - der'd
by the
ith the
brook-side, I
elm tree, I
r =«^5 ^m^
wan
der'd by the
^^^-i
1&&1 *
— a — *=f2 — s — ^
^l ^— -— a _^pf~-\ s ^^^1
« 1
-f— 1^"
=f=^^5=
<
('•\*0r~ft fl
-^ •+
/ /
+^
~*,^
*
HN
)^-\-1-
6— ? <
^
_i_,_ j_,_
-H 7-
0 ' ^ - • "
£*-*
7 -f^-i— *—
, .j . ^_^ . ,w
*—0 —
h^ — '
•0-
*—* *
mill;
shade,
^tfiiS •
I.... could
And as
-^ «^-* *V^=^
not hear the
it grew still
^^^2 — — *^^^^ —
* i «
i — ]/ 1
brook-flow, The
long - er, I
J
— }—
_ — ^ p
f^
2- .r
•» i •»
— -•
N
H -*f
^ * .
K
=• r- -1
fcfcfcws —
AT 3 ^
-*» : -r^
|_^_
J? ^ .
* "^
^
*
=ir:=±=d
~K 1
T-N . . •
$& * 4-V .
noi
did
'?=£. 1 — [—0 —
sy wheel was still:
not feel a - fraid;
3 I
»-« « L
r ^
*j ^
X •
There
For I
— 3_ — i^ ^ — 1
was no burr of
Us •• ten'd for a
J :
J lilS^-dEl ^i
5^-lr ttj
w *. *f ' 9
•T11"^— 1 — « — * — • *•
_ «^ •*"
•> •>
-*.- $r~*T P
j_' i j — J J-;-g=]
y
I J /
-*•
•? • • • K i 1
-*•
t~ 1
364
OU2i FAMILIAR HONGS.
I wandered by the brookside,
1 wandered by the mill ;
I could not hear the brook flow, —
The noisy wheel was still.
There was no burr of grasshopper,
No chirp of any bird,
But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.
I sat beneath the elm-tree :
I watched the long, long shade,
And, as it grew still longer,
I did not feel afraid :
For I listened for a footfall,
I listened for a word, —
But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.
He came not, — no, he came not, —
The night came on alone, —
The little stars sat one by one,
Each on his golden throne;
The evening air passed by my cheek.
The leaves above were stirred,
But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.
Fast, silent tears were flowing,
When something stood behind :
A hand was on my shoulder, —
I knew its touch was kind:
It drew me nearer — nearer —
We did not speak one word,
For the beating of our own hearts
Was all the sound we heard.
ANNIE LAURIE.
They gang of love, and not of fame;
Forgot was Britain's glory ;
Each heart recalled a different name,
But all sang " Annie Laurie."
And Irish Nora's eyes are dim,
For a singer dumb and gory ;
And English Mary mourns for him
Who sang of " Annie Laurie."
Annie Laurie has come to mean, the universal soldier's sweetheart, "The girl he
left behind him," and it is pleasant to know that there really was an Annie Laurie, once;
two centuries ago, she was a blooming lassie. Here is the record, exactly as it was made
in a trustworthy old " Ballad-Book," collected by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, of Hoddam :
ANNIE LA US IE.
365
"Sir Robert Laurie, first baronet of the Maxwellton family (created 27th March, 1685), by
his second wife, a daughter of RiddeUo, Minto, had three sons, and four daughters, of whom
Anne was much celebrated for her beauty, and made a conquest of MR. DOUGLAS, of
Fiugland, who composed the following verses, under an unlucky star — for the lady married
Mr. Ferguson, of Craigdarroch." These are the original words : —
Maxwellton braes are bonnie,
Where early fa's the dew ;
Where ma and Annie Laurie
Made up the promise true ;
Made up the promise true,
And never forget will I,
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'll lav me down and die.
She's backit like the peacock,
She's briestit like the swan;
She's jimp about the middle,
Her waist ye weel micht span ;
Her waist ye weel micht span,
And she has a rolling eye,
And for Bonnie Annie Laurie,
I'll lay me me down and die.
The present air of " Annie Laurie," is the composition of Lady JOHN SCOTT, authoress
of both words and music of many songs, which have become popular in her own country.
Her maiden name was Alicia Anne Spottiswoode. She married, in 1836, Lord John
Douglass Scott, a son of the Duke of Buccleuch.
A collection of Lady Scott's musical compositions has been published in London.
Andante.
bon - me,
snaw - drift,
ly - ing,
And it's there
Her face
And like winds
that An - nie
it is the
in sum-mer
Lau - rie,
fair - est
sigh - ing,
Gie'd me
That e'er
Her voice
her prom - ise
the sun shone
is low and
her prom - ise true,
the sun shone on,
is low and sweet,
I |N»
Which ne'er
And dark
And she's a'
for - got will
blue is her
the world to
n
366
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
pp ad lib.
*-
* * ^_
i ~^ — »^i ~* 1""""*s ]
i — I*—- 1 1
— H
p
e
n
|_ U IT-
MS ;)
'e; V And for
»e;J
i 1 1
bon - nie An - nie Lau - rie I'd
-* a «» — » f
n^ *• .. ^
lay me doon and
— i H
•*• •
dee.
j
^•-
£ P
P
ti== — ^ — ?=y=
/;
-* •?" rr- ^ 1
— S * •? *r I r
> f<7//« 7/^f^.
1 1 — """^^™™
~~~~, j
' 1
± 7 • ™ * J
-J ^— -^
_• 1
THE WELCOME.
THOMAS OSBOENE DAVIS was boru in Mallow, County Cork, Ireland, in 1814 Until he
was twenty-six years old, he was an enthusiastic student. After leaving Trinity College,
Dublin, he was called to the Irish bar. The need of his country for an enlightened public
journal, led him, in connection with two others, to establish The Nation, which, although
he did not edit it, he inspired with his own noble enthusiasm. The editor, who well knew
the force of patriotic song, and especially realized its power to move the susceptible hearts
of his countrymen, wanted to publish a series of national ballads. Thomas Davis had never
attempted rhyme, but the theme was so inspiring, that the lawyer found himself, perforce,
turned verse-writer, and came to be recognized as one of his country's most genuine poets.
That country's estimation of his character and services, has been thus expressed : " A more
earnest and sincere man than Davis never lived. In his total abnegation of self, in his
fiery genius, and generous impulses, he was 'his own parallel.' The characteristics of his
nature, were a strict love of truth and right, and an exuberant, joyous spirit. His devoted
love for Ireland knew no bounds ; his fidelity to her interests has rarely been equaled ;
and he served her with intense zeal, without stint or reserve, for the sole gratification of
doing good to his kind. His simplicity, and almost womanly tenderness, were beautifully
blended with the severe integrity of his principles." Davis, died in Dublin, September 16,
1845. " The Welcome " is one his most popular poems.
J
1. Come in the ev'-ning, or come in the morn - ing, Come when you're look'd for, or
2. I'll pull you sweet flow- era to wear, if you choose them ; Or, after you've kiss'd them,they'll
come with-out
lie on my
warn - ing,
bos- om. I'll
Kiss - es and welcome you'll find here be - fore you, And the
fetch from the mount-urn its breeze to in - spire you ; I'll
THE
367
oft'- ner you come here the more I'll a-dore you. Light is my heart since the
fetch from my fan - cy a tale that won't tire you. Oh ! your step's like the rain to the
day we were plight - ed, Red is my cheek that they told me was blight - ed;The
suru-mer-vex'd farm - er, Or sa - bre and shield to a knight with-out ar - mor ; I'll
¥
3F
-=f
*
S
*=fc
green of the trees looks far greener than ev-er, And the linnets are singing, "true lovers don't sever."
sing you sweet songs till stars rise a-bove me, Then,waiid'ring I'll wish you, in silence, to love me.
Come in the evening, or come in the morning ;
Come when you're looked for, or come without
warning ;
Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you,
And the oftener you come here the more I'll
adore you !
Light is my heart since the day we were plighted ;
Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted ;
The green of the trees looks far greener than ever,
And the linnets are singing " True lovers don't
sever! "
I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose
them !
Or, after you've kissed them, they'll lie on my
bosom ;
I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire
you;
I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that won't 'tire you.
Oh, your step's like the rain to the summer-vexed
farmer,
Or sabre and shield to a knight without armor;
I'll singyou sweet songs till the stars rise above me,
Then,wand'ring, I'll wish you. in silence, to love me
We'll look thro' the trees at the cliff and the eyry ;
We'll tread round the rath on the track of the
fairy;
We'll look on the stars, and we'll list to the
river,
Till you ask of your darling what gift you can
give her. —
Oh, she'll whisper you, " Love, as unchangeably
beaming,
And trust, when in secret,most tunefully streaming ;
Till the starlight of heaven above us shall quiver,
As our souls flow in one down eternity's river."
So come in the evening, or come in the morning ;
Come when you're looked for, or come without
warning ;
Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you,
And the oftener you come here the more I'll
adore you !
Light is my heart since the day we were plighted;
Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted ;
The green of the trees looks far greener than ever,
And the linnets are singing, " True lovers don't
y6b OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
WANDERING WILLIE.
THE beautiful old Scottish air called " Here awa, there awa," was an especial favorite
with BURNS. The original song written to it was very old, and thirty years before he
wrote his beautiful words, with the added element of the possible grief which " love knows
the secret of," the following three stanzas were all that had survived :
Here awa'. there awa', here awa', Willie,
Here awa', there awa', haud awa' hame;
Lang have I sought thee, dear have I bought thee,
Now I have gotten my Willie again.
Through the lang muir I have followed my Willie,
Through the lang muir I have followed him hame;
Whatever betide us, naught shall divide us,
Love now rewards all my sorrow and pain.
Here awa', there awa', here awa', Willie,
Here awa', there awa', haud awa' hame ;
Come, love, believe me, naething can grieve me,
Ilka thing pleases when Willie's at hame.
A ft *
^n
F~F "I
^ i 1
-J -ft-
^
F-j——f?———
,*. .
6§E£ — [• ' '
1. Here a - wa',
2. Win - ter winds
there a- wa', wan - der- ing
blew loud and cauld at our
1 1 — i 1 — i
Wil - lie,
part - ing;
i ' O=
Here a - wa',
Fears for my
fl^4 t
•x •
^-
— j
x-
x x
— •! — £ — J—
t -S •«
•
H
1 -i
a_p_ _j
— i—i 1
_ i
^5 — 3 — f
^^p Q. — (-
— * — r
| J x
T-f
—
H — *~~*H
r * r
^K-fe — i 1^ f—
• -K ^
0 „
-f^ 1 T~
khb J . J M
• r T f
-^H
-• ^
5iL£ E k__i (^ 1 1__^ 1 , ( 1_.
there a - wa', haud a - wa' hame. Come to my boa - om, my
Wil - lie brought tears to my e'e ; Wel - come now, sim - mer, and
n 1 I 1 1 i
J ,
j 4
m u.
4
fab <
>#
-3 — * \
x—
-+ ^ ^
I
2 >• N
,*
W. \
— d — i
f:L-
9 3—
u
1 x J
9
-\ ^
\ - 1
J . .
*
w^ —
-9 *
-t
r—
— 0 — — j^_ — (
^
IT"
iT~i ? — j
] i JJ
J f ift.
\-9 • f r
r— j K J
i n
fe=t =^3
ain on - ly
wel - come, my
AJ J i
1
dear - ie,
Wil - lie, The
' r T
Tell me the
aim - mer to
— 1 v— i—
u bring'st me my
na - ture and
I 9\ a ^~
Wil - lie the
Wil - lie to
Gs *
same.
me.
• _
* af7" L
t=
3
— »
«k-
«
— ^ 1
F
t * *
rl 1
%
-75
"^
t
1
S Si
=1
—ri
Rest, ye wild storms, in the caves of your slum- | But, oh f if he's faithless, and minds na his
bers ;
How your dread howling a lover alarms !
Wauken, ye breezes ! row gently, ye billows !
Nannie,
Flow still between us, thou wide roaring main !
May I never see it, may I never trow it,
And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms, j But. dying, believe that my Willie's my ain !
SALLY IN GUM ALLEY.
SALLY IN OUR ALLEY.
369
HENRY CAREY, author of " Sally in our Alley," was born about 1663, and was a natural
son of George Saville, Marquis of Halifax, whose family granted Carey a handsome annuity.
He adopted the musical profession ; but, although he had unusual advantages, he never
rose to eminence. For many years, he taught music in schools and families of the middle
rank. He was a prolific writer of songs, and in 1729 published two volumes of poems,
many of which are good, and one or two of which are widely known. His fame must
rest upon the one song which touched the popular heart. — "Sally in our Alley"; for his
claim to the authorship of " God save the King" is too stoutly denied, to add anything to it.
He seems to have been a man of good qualities and character. He was the principal
projector of the fund for decayed musicians, their widows, and children. In announcing
a benefit concert to be given him, the London Daily Post of December 3, 1730, said:
" At our friend, Harry Carey's benefit, to-night, the powers of music, poetry, and painting,
assemble in his behalf; he being an admirer of the three arts. The body of musicians
meet in the Hayrnarket, whence they march in great order, preceded by a magnificent moving
organ, in form of a pageant, accompanied by all the kinds of musical instruments ever in use,
from Tubal Cain until the present day. A great multitude of booksellers, authors, and
printers form themselves into a body at Temple Bar, whence they march, with great decency,
to Covent Garden, preceded by a little army of printer's devils, with their proper instru-
ments. Here the two bodies of music and poetry are joined by the brothers of. the pencil,
where, after taking some refreshments at the Bedford Arms, they march in solemn proces-
sion to the theatre, amidst an innumerable crowd of spectators."
"Sally in our Alley" was one of the most popular songs ever made in England. In
the third edition of his poems, Carey gives an account of the manner in which it came to
be written. He says : " The real occasion was this : A shoemaker's 'prentice, making a holi-
day with his sweetheart, treated her with a sight of Bedlam, the puppet-shows, the flying-
chairs, and all the elegancies of Moorfields ; from whence proceeding to the Farthing-pie-
house, he gave her a collation of buns, cheese, cakes, gammon of bacon, stuffed beef, and
bottled ale; through all which scenes the author dodged them (charmed with the sim-
plicity of their courtship), from whence he drew this little sketch of nature ; but being
then young and obscure, he was very much ridiculed by some of his acquaintance for this
performance, which nevertheless made its way into the polite world, and amply recom-
pensed him by the applause of the divine Addison, who was pleased (more than once) to
mention it with approbation."
Endless were the answers, parodies, and imitations of the favorite song. One of the
li veliest of the former began :
" Of all the lads that are so smart,
There's none I love like Billy;
He is the darling of my heart,
And he lives in Piccadilly."
Another contained the following :
" I little thought when you began,
To write of charming Sally,
That every brat would sing so soon,
' She lives in our alley.'"
Carey committed suicide in a fit of despair, October 4, 1743, at his home in Warmer
street, Coldbath-fields,— or, to quote a quaint account, "by means of a halter he put a
37U
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
period to a life which had been led without reproach." Like all who took their owu lives
in that day, he was buried at a cross-roads, and his grave is unknown.
Carey composed the original air to his song, and it was immensely popular for thirty
years, when suddenly it was dropped, and "Sally " was set in motion to a fine old ballad air,
called " The Country Lass."
^g: — H-J— H ,^- * JT—
• ^*^- • *
_J- 1_ r«_
=5F? — r- -1
1. Of all the girls that are so smart, There's none like pret -ty J
2. Her fa - ther he makes cab-bage - nets, And through the streets does
jjcH — * — — i — tj — *_ ^ — .* y jsT^'- «» _* wr.d t - ~h
-*•
5al-ly; She
cry 'em ; Her
* 1 M
•^ •*•
PP
EZZHE
f — j 1 ! > — *— i
Y * 7 M — - — u — - — ^ J
-^ * ^ >—
K ~^=~? »T~=^~
is the darl -ing of my heart, And lives in our al -ley; There is no la- dy
moth -er she sells la - ces long To such as please to buy 'em; But sure such folks could
fr- — r* HK ^F^1}
— 0 — 0 — _ K
•— ^ ,
~b — J F — f
lf=
— i
!X U
in the land That's half so sweet as Sal-ly; She is the darl - ing of my
ne'er be -get So sweet.... a girl as Sal-ly; She is the darl - ing of my
0
_» A 9
T
.-f L j
45
3— z_p r
^ ^— *— f— «-
-4 jS-f— :
ML.
-r—*
• ' * 7 A
heart, And lives in our al - ley..
SALLY IN OUR ALLEY.
371
Of all the girls that are so smart
There's none like pretty Sally ;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
There is no lady in the land
That's half so sweet as Sally ;
She is the darling of my heart,
And lives in. our alley.
Her father he makes cabbage-nets,
And through the streets does cry 'em;
Her mother she sells laces long
To such as please to buy 'em;
But sure such folks could ne'er beget
So sweet a girl as Sally !
She is the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley.
When she is by, I leave my work,
I love her so sincerely;
My master comes like any Turk,
And bangs me most severely.
But let him bang his bellyful, —
I'll bear it all for Sally ;
For she is the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley.
Of all the days that's in the week
I dearly love but one day,
And that's the day that comes betwixt
The Saturday and Monday;
For then I'm drest all in my best
To walk abroad with Sally ;
She is the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley.
My master carries me to church,
And often am I blamed
Because I leave him in the lurch
As soon as text is named;
I leave the church in sermon-time,
And slink away to Sally,
She is the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley.
When Christmas comes about again,
Oh, then I shall have money !
I'll hoard it up, and box and all,
I'll give it to my honey ;
Oh, would it were ten thousand pound!
I'd give it all to Sally ;
For she's the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley.
JOCK O' HAZELDEAN.
SIR WALTER SCOTT wrote all except the first stanza of this ballad ; that one he took
from an old song called "Jock 0' Hazelgreen." The present words were written for
" Albyn's Anthology," published in 1816 and edited by Alexander Campbell. The air has
been traced by Chappel, the English writer on song literature, to an old English song
entitled " In January last," in a play of D'Urfey's called " The Fond Husband ; or the
Plotting Sisters," which was acted in 1676.
Andante Moderato.
. Why weep ye by the tide, la -dye? Why weep ye by the tide? I'll
. Now let this wil - fu' grief be done, And dry that cheek so pale; You
Young
wed ye to my young - est son, And ye shall be his bride.
Frank is chief of Err - ing - ton, And lord of Lang - ly - dale.
And
His
372
OUli FAMILIAR SONGS.
ye shall be his bride, )a - dre, Sae come -ly to be seen; But
itep is first in peace - ful ha', His sword in bat -tie keen; But
step
A chain o' gold ye shall not lack,
Nor braid to bind your hair,
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,
Nor palfrey fresh and fair ;
And you, the foremost o' them a',
Shall ride our forest queen —
But aye she loot the tears down fa',
For Jock o' Hazeldean.
The kirk was decked at morning tide.
The taper glimmered fair,
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
And dame and knight are there.
They sought her baith by bower and ha',
The lady was not seen ;
She's o'er the border and awa'
Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean.
JESSIE, THE FLOWER O' DUMBLANE.
ROBERT TANNAHILL was the author of this beautiful song. The last stanza, beginning
" How lost were my days till I met with my Jessie," was not in the original song, and it is
so commonplace that it is difficult to believe Tannahill added it.
The heroine of the song has been much speculated about. Each Jessie, in the old
town, had the honor of being represented as the " blooming fair." Dumblane lay upon a
celebrated and picturesque stage-route, and we can fancy the quieter rolling of the rumbling
wheels, and the louder rolling of the driver's voice, who, with his long whip, used to point out
to each fresh load of sight-seeking and story-loving passengers, the humble cottage where
the tiny bud, that became the far-famed " flower o' Dumblane/' unfolded to the light. One
enthusiastic traveller published an account of his interview with the bonnie lassie, then a
decidedly plain old lady. Alas ! for the truthfulness of this historian. Jessie was but a
poet's dream. Tannahill never was in Dumblane ; had he been, he would have known
that from there the sun could not be seen going down " o'er the lofty Ben Lomond." The
only fancies of the poet's short life were for two young women of his native town of Paisley.
The exquisite air was made by KOBERT ARCHIBALD SMITH, who is celebrated as a
composer, and student of Scottish airs, of which he made some of the sweetest. He set
gome of Tannahill's best songs. He was bora at Reading, Berkshire, England, November
16, 1780, and died in Edinburgh, January 3, 1829.
JESSIE, THE FLOWER 0' DUMBLANE.
373
Andante*
XL # fi *3 :
* • • • —r-
t | P> js, ^~Z±I |x j
a i h ~ — f*~i
W ft-^- -^ P-fcj — F; — K — [3 • • 4 * — = — , i — *-± j'. V P — rs r *'
«J * -*-
1. The sun has gane down o'er the loft- y Ben - Lo-mond, And left the red clouds to pre-
2. She's mod - est as o - ny, and blithe as she's bon - nie, For guile- less sim - pli - ci - ty
3. How lost were my days till I met wi' my Jes - sie ! The sports o' the ci - ty seem'd
Z tf 0 •jZH—a..- ' =i -2 * a — ' = fe 1 — —f5— 1
fr^/fil -
2
i ' M i i i
JrJ. J T
j — ^> 5
i
•i
4
9-
s
*~-' it ft
i- — ^~
, J ^fr?
-1 1 IL
> . ff * ^ P » r-
r - r J
f
J
rr — * — f-
-side o'er
marks her
fool - ish
-b— * — "^ — F — g [> [ v [• '-*=
the scene; While lane - ly I stray in the calm
its ain; And far be the vil-lain, di - vest
and vain ; I ne'er saw a nymph I would ca'
J 1 H «• J W H
sim-mer gloam-in' To
ed of feel - ing, Wha'd
my dear las - sie, Till
rp==^=*^
} •
2 $
*
r 1 .-
- -*
i ^ i
^
i —
55
)*s *f r
-T J a h
_^ j j — j_
1
E
^ $ L
— b n " *~
*i — T-H-
"
•^
£
- #
^ v *f
*
,
IL N 4
H r"*-T1
r it ^ i
£ r r
1
J
1
j ^ ;
: n. ,. K, ...
J B P J P
P * -r m P
r
1
, & £ P *_.
* •— Ji— J — -^ T_ .
-H ^— -= H ^
—
tt
_£
muse on
blight in
charm'd wi'
i_*f if
^ p — ^ 1 x p — i—v ^
sweet Jes - sie, the flow'r of Dum-blane. How sweet is the brier wi' its
Its bloom the sweet flow'r o' Dum-blane. Sing on, thou sweet mav - is, thy
sweet Jes - sie, the flow'r o' Dum-blane. Tho' mine were the sta- tion of
^ K - "^ 1 f>
/ U-
— H — = IV :s 1 i— 1-
-m — * 1 f\ — J — » —
^— j — 4 — i —
— j
*
IL # •
_ 0 .-
-N J^ • V-
|U
( ©?^#— F
—%— *-
< 1 f -
0 —
— ^
~1
\£C
*-* £
L __.
— i
-H
^
V F-- ^
'
— *
cz
T
jg
> tf E • -^ — " — b — * — b — - — ' — * — = — v — b — = — ' — J — i — 1-
saft fauld-ing bios - som, And sweet is the birk wi' its man - tie o' green; But
hymn to the e'e - nln', Thou'rt dear to the ech-oes of Cal - der- wood glen; Sae
loft - i - est gran- deur, A - midst its pro - fu - slon Td lan-guish in pain, And
V j M Jl 1 * J J' J =^==^
T
^-i
^=F—
\ * J-
-j r r
Lt ^ •
— _ —
nf r F
-
d
E
'« !•
~* i
-*- ^
P* c
— -1
374
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
sweet- er and fair - er, and dear to this bo - som, Is love - ly young Jes - sie, the
dear to this bo- som, sae art - less and win- ning, Is charm - ing young Jes - sie, the
reck- on as naething the height o* its splen- dor, If want - ing sweet Jes - sie, the
/EE -f-r- -nr- i j
-s — 1 r — « —
•
^H
BeE5= -M =JbM=:
«^
i — 3 % — 2 —
-* — — «l — [
...n- s — 1
. r .
4^
P«~h N-fv 1 ^ 1 > »
^
S k. k. .A. . J '
— — •» —
1 • ff * ff -
•
f • -r1 J 1 J\ ^ j* jt j'. •--'- — b — *— b~ *-f-
flow'r o' Dum-blane, Is love - ly young Jes - sie. Is love - ly young Jes-sie,
flow'r o' Dum-blane, Is charm- ing young Jes - sie, Is charm-ing young Jes-sie,
flow'r o' Dum-blane, If want - ing sweet Jes - sie, If want- ing sweet Jes-sie,
Qfl i — N K 1 &*— T- — — — — (v 1 — 1 ^—^
^ jf g| — =1 v — -J— r^~ — ]— — — '-it— — at—
Is
Is
If
ml -W" 0 9 ^^-^ ~W~
M- hi ^ * m
=f=^ =3F
3 »s— » —
r 1s P
h
/U\4J it r J f f
* * l
' J
J
PirV • *i i 1
— ?
« j
— fc
^^ * 1* - p
~~b — ^ ^ ^
— f—
— 4-
^ ^ r
A*t if m IL N
#
9
y ft u.* m • * r * r^ P x
s 1
rfr*-S — 5 E .5 r • J — * • h J
J M =
X =*-
love - ly young Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane.
charming young Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane.
want -ing sweet Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane.
fe
n
MEET ME BY MOONLIGHT.
BOTH the words and music of this song, the first line of which has become one of the
most familiar of all "familiar quotations," were produced by J. AUGUSTUS WADE, an English
composer, who died in London in 1875, aged seventy-five. He was extremely poor, and
in his last days literally went begging among the music publishers.
1. Meet me by moon-light a - lone, And then I will
Day - light may do for the gay, The thought-less, the
-qzzzpzzq— | J i — -X.
'* T - »|- 9.— 9.
sEE§=^
MEET ME BY MOONLIGHT.
375
EE!=
tell you a tale,,
heart-less, the free ; .
Must be told by the moon - light a -
But there's some - thing a - bout the moon's
=3 — ; — ^Et
» 0 — 4- — 0 0-
.^ »J ,-*- . ^ -.— .. ,,^J-
*— *— S.-^T- £- JT^nr"*
£ 4 4 £ 4 £
•0 0 0 — -I
1
lone,,
ray,..
:!=+
In the grove at the end of the vale;.
That is sweet - er to you and to me;.
T -j JnzzrlH-ijzzzzdzziiid
— »— J — 0 0 — — «i— f — 0 • 0- — -3
3^nrnt=z<:
r^rTrHr-r~#—r- ^— s— *
"-T"
:r=tr=:3=^
-^ B'
7^::
You must prom-ise to come, for I said..
Ohl re - mem-ber, be sure to be there,.
I would show the night •
For though dear-ly a
3
ztv
— —
flow - ers their queen,
moon-light I prize, .
~^
Nay, turn not a
I care not for
way that sweet
all in the
stacc
r™ ^i r" _ i i
376
OUK FAMILIAR SONGS.
head!,
air,.
'Tis the lov - li - est ev - er was seen!.
If I want the sweet light of your eyes!.
Oh! meet me by moon - light a - lone,
So meet me by moon - light a - lone
JL
^?\
J _ (^
y ft
1 ,-> . . . i . _i
9f -Jj
Meet me by moon - light a
lone!
-1__|___N __
=j_ + =£- E^
r<z//.
f~ f f f
i=5h -i- -i— jz -s - _,
"
-4 -•••'- "^ • . - j , . — ^-— .J •! X-
— • _J i — 1 — ^
SAW YE MY WEE THING?
HECTOR MACNEILL, author of the words of this song, was born into an old and honored
Scottish family. His father, a retired army officer at the time of Hector's birth, was living
in a beautiful villa near Kosliii, amidst charming scenery. While Hector was quite young,
his father's finances became involved, and the family removed to a farm on the pictur-
esque shore of Loch Lomond. Hector wrote poems and dramas when very young. His
father was not without discernment of the boy's talent, and pride in its exhibitions ; but
want of money compelled him to deny him the education he wanted. A rich relative
offered to make the boy's fortune, and so the studious lad was pushed into a career which
proved utterly uncongenial and unsatisfactory. He was shipped to the Island of St. Chris-
topher's, with a view to showing how much sailor there was in him j but he was provided
with letters to present, in case he did not wish to re-ship, after landing there. He took
advantage of the alternative, and found employment there for a year. That failing, he
SAW YE .171" \YEE
377
sailed for Guadaloupe, where he remained three years with an employer who turned him
off with a small amount, when, in 1763, the island was ceded to the French. With diffi-
culty he reached Antigua, where, reduced to utter penury, he worked a short time for a
relative, with no recompense whatever. His general culture and abilities, with his know-
ledge of the French language, rescued him from this, and he became assistant to the
Provost-Marshal of Grenada, for three years. On receiving news of the death of his
mother and sister, he returned to Scotland. His father died soon after, leaving him a little
property. This he invested in an annuity of £80, upon which small sum he hoped to be
able to stay at home. But difficulty in obtaining even this, and an unfortunate attachment,
sent him out again upon the ocean. As assistant-secretary on board a flag-ship he made
two cruises, when he turned homeward ; but he was persuaded to accept a position upon
the flag-ship of Sir Richard Brinkerton, commander of the naval forces in India. In this
position he suffered great hardships, and was in some naval engagements. He remained
three years, though sick almost to death of his wanderings. He longed for quiet, and
literary pleasures, and, although he had little money, he again attempted the experiment
of supporting himself in Scotland by his pen. He fixed his abode in a farm-house near
Stirling, where he composed diligently; but the slow-moving booksellers, and ready
critics, proved too much for his patient industry. He must live, even though he wrote
verses, and when the bottom of his purse was reached, he set sail once more. On a voyage
to the island of Jamaica, he engaged himself to a collector of customs, who, finding after-
Ward that he could dispense with the poet's services, dismissed him forthwith. Disheartened
and homesick, he turned toward his native hills again. These he reached, with no money
in his pocket, but a poem which he had written during the voyage, entitled, " The Harp,
«, Legendary Tale." This was published, but brought him no money. He lived with rela-
tives, writing, until he was seized with a nervous disease which for six years rendered
him incapable of physical exertion. When he recovered, he produced nearly all his best
songs, and began at last to realize his dream. One poem gave him wide reputation, and
went through fourteen editions in a year, and the one following was equally popular. He
now went to Jamaica to recover health, and the light heart which he carried greatly
assisted him. A friend in Jamaica settled upon him an annuity of £100, and he returned
to Scotland, to leave it no more. He established himself in Edinburgh, received some
legacies, wrote constantly, and was soon living in affluence, courted by fashion and
culture. There was now but one drawback to his happiness — he was old. He writes,
January 30, 1813: "Accumulating years and infirmities are beginning to operate very
sensibly upon me now, and yearly do I experience their increasing influence. Both my
hearing and my sight are considerably weakened, and, should I live a few years longer, I
look forward to a state which, with all our love of life, is certainly not to be envied." Five
years later, March 15, 1818, when seventy-one years old, his strange, wandering life closed
in peacefulness and hope.
IL
J.
K N 1
tfft Q. k_ fc_ 1 1
*— **1 .. :!
— JV -}?— ^ ±~
P 4^
W m
-J =J =J . L_J
1. Oh, saw ye my 1
2. I saw na your
svee thing?
wee thing,
|
* • - • 0 j
saw ye my ain
saw na your ain
1 — r~ — h — r~
thing?
thing ; Nor
^ £ "4- 1
w/ ^
1 '
— J -I
=*r=ff
. j j
, -I--1
1 1 _!
378
OUR FAMILIAR SOXGS.
^ I --^ ^. __^_
^ ^-'"~ ~ ^ T ^^ ~^^ ~^ — — W
Saw ye my true love, down by yon lea? Cross'd she the mea-dow, yes -
saw I your true love down by yon lea ; But I met a bon - nie thing
dbs:
- treen
late
at the gloain-in'?
in the gloam -in',
Sought she the bur - nie whar flow'rs the haw-tree? Her
Down by the bur - nie whar flow'rs the haw-tree? Her
o it * *»
JE. tl 0 0 0 F —
^ t IL H 1
0 f
ff^ ^ \J ' ' u (V
J ' p J * *
V— > —
V I/ i \J ij
[ j \r \r \S
hair it is lint-white, her
hair it was lint-white, her
skin it is milk-white,
skin it was milk-white,
Dark is the blue o' her
Dark was the blue o' her
1 — 1 * — ---N— i
— | : 1 1
ftj ' i^l i^
* *
*
000
: n
^/•MT — • * • 0 —
~* * « *-
-*- —ft f
-*-
1 1 p 1 ^ — 1
., i IX 1
i_| £
— }/ — l
saft,
saft,
roll - ing e'e,
roll - ing e'e,
Bed, red her ripe lips, and sweet - er than ro - sesl
Red were her ripe lips, and sweet - er than ro - ses!
8
-P r
Whar could my wee thing hae wan- der'dfrae me?
Sweet were the kiss - es that she ga'e to me !
SAW YE MY WEE THING f
379
It was na my wee thing, it was na my ain thing,
It was na my true love ye met by the tree :
Proud is her leal heart, an' modest her nature,
. She never lo'ed ony till ance she lo'ed me.
Her name it is Mary, she's frae Castle-Cary;
Aft has she sat, when a bairn, on my knee :
Fair as your face is, wer't fifty times fairer,
Young bragger, she ne'er wad gi'e kisses to
thee.
It was, then, your Mary, she's frae Castle-Cary,
It was, then, your true love, I met by the
tree ;
Proud as her heart is, and modest her nature,
Sweet were the kisses that she ga'e to me.
Sair gloomed his dark brow, blood-red his cheek
grew,
And wild flash'd the fire frae his red-rolling e'e;
Ye'se rue sair this morning your boasts and your
scorning !
Defend ye, fause traitor, fu' loudly ye lie !
Awa' wi' beguiling, cried the youth, smiling ; —
Aff went the bonnet, the lint-white locks flee ;
The belted plaid fa'ing, her white bosom shawing,
Fair stood the lov'd maid wi' the dark, rolling e'e
Is it my wee thing ? is it my ain thing ?
Is it my true love here that I see ?
O Jamie, forgi'e me, your heart's constant to me,
I'll never mair wander, dear laddie, frae thee!
THE ROSE OF ALLANDALE.
THIS simple, familiar, Scottish-sounding ditty was written by CHARLES JEFPERYS, and
the music was composed by his friend SIDNEY NELSON.
£
i
i : J
morn was fair, the skies were clear, No breath came o'er the sea,
e'er I wan - dered, east or west, Though fate be - gan to lower,
when my fev - ered lips were parched, On Af - ric's burn-ing sand,
i
m
J^F T^N E
0 b J ^ ! *, ^^ i^*
,—! 1 f-n—£ , 1 k-.
d-3 I ^
— r — h~
4 J 4 ' *
~zr- — 4
IfTS J 1 • fl
• • 9 l M
* 9 * ^
\ 5
v-j • • • J *
* 9 Z
€ • 1
• A—- 2 _
4
Ma - ry left her high - land
sol - ace still was she to
whis - pered hopes of hap - pi -
i ' ^T
cot, And wan - dered forth with me. The
me, In sor - row's lone - ly hour. When
nesst And tales of dis - tant land. My
i
f»}' hi N 1 S
N
(CA ™
{• I*
Cf
J
w£ J • J J • J
r r
J • J
L
d h 1
1
. s
1 ! j*^ I
is '
^M
y i " J
p
•
p
.
j
n 4 J 4
p
4
i j
* — J-
j
-J—
_*L_
4r-
g :
4i ' \
rr — ~T
9
— J —
— f — ; —
— IJ —
— J—
— 4 * 4 — •
— 5-
— j — 4 —
flow
tern
life
- ers
- pests
had
I
decked
lashed
been
the mount -
our gal -
a wil -
ain
lant
der-
side,
bark,
ness,
And fra - grance filled
And rent her shiv •
Un - blest by for -
m ^ ^ e •
the vale,
'ring sail,
tune's gale,
K
By
One
Had
.
1
c
i
P
/•^? " I
I? "L I
1—
— i
t—
H
— j —
— —
— 1
— 1 1
— 4
p
H
—*-
— 1
-t—
—4--
— 4 —
— 4 —
-t
— 4
-* — r
far the sweet - est flow - er there. Was the Eose of
maid - en form with - stood the storm, 'Twas the Rose of
fate not linked my lot to hers, The Rose of
Al - Ian - dale. Was the
Al - Ian - dale. 'Twas the
Al - Ian - dale. The
^
380
OUR FAMILIAR
TTfr f J . • j
ii ,
_^LJ: J_ — J— -
1 1
Rose of Al - Ian - dale, the Rose of
Rose of Al - Ian - dale, the Rose of
Rose of Al - Ian - dale, the Rose of
Al - Ian -
Al - Ian -
Al - Ian -
c) •
dale,
dale,
dale,
=p:
By
One
Had
t^-r • -^-i
s — iR — ^r~
•l^ • — j
n — 1 —
1
- p.
— t — KT
• -
^
r
1
-H
cfj — i~ — i
H-
5-
-+HH
-£ 0 9 -
— *-<
i* i
— «
far the sweet - est flow - er there, Was the
maid - en form with - stood the storm, 'Twas the
fate not linked my fate to hers, The
*
r
Rose of Al
Rose of Al
Rose of Al
r * — 1
- Ian -
- Ian -
Ian -
dale,
dale,
dale.
— i
4-
0—
' P —
—\\
»c*r — *-J— f — r — r-
-^ -A
3=
m~* — —
_^ * |_
— E
-,
p-H
KIND ROBIN LO'ES ME.
THIS song first appeared in David Herd's collection of Scottish melodies, in 1776. The
original was a coarse old song, but the new words were adapted to modern ideas of decency.
Moderate.
0 8 ^ ^ i^
\ 1 N-P — 1*» — ^*
/K /i «^|
3==*H
rJT-ji
H
—
i —
=iR
— 1~ — \~~~3
-f"H"-
vv — r j
— • 0 0 '
-^- f •-
~ «
— *
— ^-= —
— *-• - ^3-* - - IX
1. On, Rob- in is my on - ly joo, For Rob- in has the art to lo'e ; So
2. He's tall and son - ey, frank and free, He's loe'd by a', and dear to me; Wi'
3. But lit - tie kens she what has been, Me and my hou - est Rob be-tween, And
0 it
Jf« i, „
—* 1—^
— i —
1
fc3BEE
N j
1 — ^ —
-^
-^
J «N
— al
tr
^3 5 ^
j
-»
i — g
—
— H ^~
1 P—
-8 l
^ ^ —
~~i ~*~9 ~
3 — J — «
-*
—4
J * —
~* * — 1
TL
1
i ^_^_
-T"t J J 1 sr
— i
f
0 j
-G> 1 T-+1
m — «
^ to
hi
in
•ftf-
— •
hi
n I'
hi
F=:
,
s suit I
1 live, wi'
s woo - ing,
-U T^-iz^^i
mean to bow, Be -
him I'd dee, Be -
Oh, how keen Kind
, 1 s*
cause I
t;ause m1
Rob - in
k<
7 R<
i
i
3n
)b -
^ t
he
in
hat
-T — 0 — jg£
lo'es me. Oh,
lo'es me. My
lo'es me. Then
w- — \
=j
=
J-- ^
J ~
-n 1 J -'
y=d
1
.
i
)=
£§2-3^*1
1
•
-i 0 * •
l— 0 •
-j — «
" "I
f
—
— i -J
P44-^-^T
^S^=3bb
^ • Wi I J^^
-?
r:
hap - py, hap - py was the show'r That led me to his birk - en bow'r, Where
jis - ter Ma - ry said to me, Our court - ship but a joke wad be, And
fly, ye la - zy hours, a - way, And hast - en on the hap - py day, When,
i
KIND If OB IN LOPES ME.
381
y * f — rT 1 i f • -
i*~^s j ~3n — '
i — - — is — j* — s=Sk' — r~& — rn
first of love I
I ere lang be
"join your hands," Mess
LLJ J ^j~ .rp i ' • «< — i — fcj 1 1 j n
fand the pow'r, And kenn'd that Rob - in lo'ed me.
made to see That Rob - in did - na lo'e me.
John shall say, And • make him mine that lo'es me.
p i i
>* J s*
-J
1
t
j = ^- P g^- J ||
, -, , ^
j_ i
— ^ — • — ~ \ P -H
I LO'ED NE'ER A LADDIE BUT ANE.
THE first stanza of this song, was written by KEY. JOHN CHENTE, minister of Borthwick
in Mid-Lothian, who died in 1819, at the age of sixty-two. The remaining four stanzas
were written by HECTOR MACNEILL. The air is an adaptation of the Irish melody, " My
lodging is on the cold ground."
1. I lo'e na a lad -die but ane,.
2. Let ith - ers bragweel o' their gear,.
He lo'es na a las - sie but me; He's
Their land, and their lord-ly de - gree, I
will-in' to make me his ain, Andhis ain I am will - in' to
care na for ought but my dear, For he's il - ka thing lord • ly to
beTT. He
me.... His
-p^-i — I— HN — I •
coft me a roke-lay o' blue,.,
words mair than su - gar are sweet,.
And a pair o' mit -tenso' green; He
His sense drives il - ka fear far a - wa' ; I
382
OUR FAMILIAR SONQS.
And I plight - ed my troth yes - tret
Yet how sweet are the tears as they fa' 1
vow'd that he'd ev - er be
lis - ten, poor fool, and I
" Dear lassie," he cries wi' a jeer,
" Ne'er heed what the auld anes will say.
Though we've little to brag o', ne'er fear ;
What's gowd to a heart that is wae ?
Our laird hath baith honors and wealth.
Yet see how he's dwining wi' care ;
Now we, though we've naething but health,
Are cantie and leal evermair.
" O, Menie ! the heart that is true,
Has something mair costly than gear;
Ilk e'en it has naething to rue,
Ilk morn it has naething to fear.
Yewarldlings, gae hoard up your store,
And tremble for fear aught ye tyne ;
Guard your treasures wi' lock, bar and door,
True love is the guardian of mine."
He ends wi' a kiss an' a smile,
Wae's me, can I take it amiss ?
My laddie's unpractised in guile,
He's free aye to daut and to kiss !
Ye lasses wha lo'e to torment
Your wooers wi' fause scorn and strife,
Play your pranks — I hae gi'en my consent,
And this night I'm Jamie's for life.
MARY OF ARGYLE.
THE words of "Mary of Argyle" were written by CHARLES JEFFERYS, and the melody
was composed by SIDNEY NELSON.
fc| -~0 -% -f< :* — j; — I*
•* -4
^-f— *^— : i- =-rz*-d
1. I have heard the mav-is sing -ing,
2. Tho' thy voice may lose its sweetness
His love-song to the mom ; I have
And thine eye its bright - ness too ; Tho' thy
(^ r i r
•llSlv "fr <0
•*•
=3=== — F^
-j- -J-. =&=3 -
1 j J__| ;j
"TJ~ 9 — p ~~^ ~~^
3 fe
« * *
f~ ' j 1
& L. ? 1 0 1—f—. 5 ^Zj_tl_r 0. -^JL « 0 = = 1
seen the dew drop cling -ing, To the rose just new- ly born; But a
step may lack its fleet-ness, And thy hair its sun - ny hue ; Still to
^ f •* i r
hi —
•*• •*•
.._, — .. ,. . .
1 — • ; * «> —
— E3E3 —
v
— • 5= — ii _]
r
MARY OF ARGYLE.
383
sweet - er song has cheer'dme,
me wilt thou be dear - er,
At the eve - nlng's gen - tie close; And I've
Than all the world shall own; I have
r' r' f it
:;==:^=fl«:
seen an eye, still brighter,
lov'd thee for thy beau-ty,
N JS . JS- ^ ] I "**
' ' -L-H— =V- -1- tX >— '
•P
Than the dew - drop on the rose; 'Twas thy
But not for that a - lone; I have
/r\
mf
M a tempo.
i ":-M ! i_ f *• »• * m s» *_• JL—
voice, my gen - tie Ma - ry, And thine art - less win - ning smile. That
watch'd thy heart dear Ma - ry, And its good - ness was the wile'. That has
T^"
— 0 — — t — _ « —
^ * -+ * ^?
a tempo.
4t 1 — — 1
-}i3 — * : d —
i 1 1 1 =q
m m
4J 1
ad lib.
made this world an E - den, Bon - ny
made thee mine for - ev - er, Bon - ny
Ma - ry
Ma - ry
of.
of.
PP
'-*
-5^
^*=$=*F
Ar -gyle I
Ar -gyle!
384
fjL'li FAMILIAR SONGS.
THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY.
THIS song was written by BURNS, for the Museum, in September, 17S7, while visiting
the falls of Moness, near Aberfeldy, in Perthshire. The poet and his friend, William Nicol,
were there on a tour in the Highlands. There was an old song, called " The Birks of
Abergeldy," which had these stanzas :
Bonnie Lassie, will ye go,
Will ye go, will ye go,
Bonnie Lassie, will ye go,
To the birks of Abergeldy?
Ye sail get a gown of silk,
A gown of silk, a gown of silk,
Ye sail get a gown of silk,
And a coat of callimankei.
Na, kind sir, I daur na gang,
I daur na gang. I daur na gang,
Na, kind sir. I daur na gang,
My minnie wad be angry.
Sair, sair wad she flyte,
Wad she flyte, wad she flyte ;
Sair, sair, wad she flyte,
And sair, sair would she ban me.
The air, which appeared in Playford's " Dancing Master," in 1657, is there called " A
Scotch ayre."
Bon - nie las - sie, will ye go, Will ye go, will ye go,
gM-tt
f
^*i
r^r—1 f l
E£
Uf-**— — — N -P — ^ — £- 3 — £-
r . ^ — ^ — s — i — iP-
KB-^ -£— -£— J — * — I? * — - — - — V—
-^ — 5 — • — J- — *—
tj ~*~- — *~~
Bon - nie las - sie, will ye [go To the
Ah j j ] J i
\—x. ^ e 0
r NOW
birks of A - her - fel - dy?-^ While
( The
s* =*==*= -*-*- ^
ear— « * T ru
^-%- f
& p-^-t ^1
^ r = r • j =
u_J |t_ j? p ^_
-h — h -B fa—
.
* • ^ ^ — ^- -J ^ -^ — c; j . /i
sim - mer blinks on flow- 'rv braes, And o'er the crys - tal stream- let plays, Come
o'er their heads the ha- zels hing, The lit - tie bird- ies blythe - ly sing, Or
as-cend like loft - y wa's, The foam - ing stream deep roar - ing fa's, O'er-
£4 i ^=^=^—
i i t
-« — f g
1 - i — (- f Lf
f f r
1
g^_-
-f f! — — * — ff—
385
K -I *
-f-. - * * , =fe= =B
let us spend the light - some davs In the birks of A - ber - fel - dv
light - ly flit on wan - ton wing In the birks of A" - ber - fel - dv
hung wi' f ra - grant spread - ing shaws, The birks of A - ber - fel - dy.'
K-7 ~ 1 :
j" — "H" — — "w" —
•*- *
gj& 1 —\
— 1 H — «W»
~ir — -Jr 0m—
-+• -0-
~l %~
t»= =5-=^=-^=
i ^ /
— *H 5-H
^•^-B- r
VI 1
__ f *
'V 1
^-r=
*The hoary cliffs are crowned wi' flowers,
White o'er the linns the burnie pours,
And, rising, weets wi' misty showers
The birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonnie lassie, etc.
*Let fortune's gifts at random flee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
Supremely blest wi' love and thee
In the birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonnie lassie, etc.
THE LASS O' PATIE'S MILL.
ALLAN EAMSAY was visiting the Earl of London ; and one day, when they were walk-
ing together by the banks of Irvine water, at a place called Patie's Mill, both were struck
by the appearance of a beautiful country-girl. The Earl remarked that she would make a
fine subject for a song. Ramsay stayed behind when they returned to the castle, and at
dinner produced this song.
The air is known to be at least as old as the middle of the seventeenth century.
Andantino.
m
1. The lass o'" Pa- tie'a mill,
2. With- out the aid of art,...
3. Oh, had I a' the wealth.
Sae bon - nie, blithe, and
Like flow'rs that grace the
Hope- toun's high mount - ains
gay,
wild,
fill,
In
She
In-
f
dolce.
E*£NNj3f?
e$
spite of a' my skill,,
did her sweets im - part.
-sured long life and health .
She stole my heart a - way. When ted - din' o' the
When - e'er she spoke or smiled, Her looks they were so
And pleas- ure at my will, I'd prom-ise and ful-
Si
* &
(25)
hay,,
mild,
OUR FAMILIAR SONGfi.
Bare - head - ed on the
Free from af - feet ed
That none but bon ., - nie
green,
pride,
she,
Love
She
The
'midst her locks did
me to love be-
lass of Pa - tie's
j-£-5
2^
. n-r .
•=|
1 " 1
plav, An' wan - ton'd in he
guiled; I wfsh'd her for mj
mill, Should share the same foi
r
•
eeti
brie
me
,
le.
j
•J -r
»
•
*•
-
1-
r
-
dim.
tee
—
r.
^
.
^ — •=
_ m
nW—
-* -f- — J
— ^
rv
1
1
12 — •
5^3
THE LEA RIG.
THIS song, by BURNS, was written for an air called " The Lea Big." The original song,
which is poor, contained but two stanzas, and was written by EGBERT FERGUSSON.
1. Wlien o'er the hill the east - era star Tells bught - in' time is near, my jo; And
2. In mirk - est glen, at mid - night hour, I'd rove, and ne'er be e - cne, O, If
3. The bun - ter lo'es the morn - ing sun, To rouse the mountain deer, my jo ; At
ow - sen free the fur - row'd field, Re
through that glen I gard to thce, My
noon the fish - er seeks the glen, A
turn sac dawf and wea - ry, O; Down
ain kind dca - ne, O, Al •
long the burn to steer my jo; Gi'e
$z=zt
-4:
THE LEA BIG.
38?
by the burn, where scent - ed birks Wi' dew are hang - ing clear, my jo; I'll
- though the night were ne'er sae wild, And I were ne'er sae wea - ry, O, I'd
me the hour o' gloam - in' gray, It rank's my heart sae chee - rie, O, To
-t — 0 — > — » — F — •
^0 — ( * — I 1-—. _
\L. U—^ — . — i * 1
1L± _p
_,,__ ., „
r * :
* L' :
— g— P K K H
— i ' * * "* — n
TT ^ ^ *
Mv
jc£ ?.
"I
r .* !
— * »^
•r +. +. •
— — ,,J- l^ri"^'
1 - J J
-' J J
it f
^ i "^
J
ii
J*L
1 1-
-I — ^- * — u
P 1
1
_-_ —•—
^ H
*
P
\ \ \
THE BRAES O' BALQUHIDDER.
As touching and sweet as the songs he wrote, but far sadder, is the story of EGBERT
TANNAHILL. He was born June 3, 1777, in Paisley, Scotland; and, like his father, was a
weaver at its famous looms. His mother possessed a poetic temperament, of which her
fourth child inherited a double portion. He was a sweet and kindly boy, loved by all his
schoolfellows. Lameness in early life, added to a natural delicacy of constitution, made
him averse to the rough games of his mates, and, while they were romping, he sat on the
play-ground, making rhymed riddles for them to guess in calmer moments, or little verses
to amuse himself. He loved music intensely, and earned pocket-money by playing the fife
at the Greenock parades. He was also master of the flute. After his simple education
was acquired, and he was at daily work, whenever he could find an old or obscure air
which pleased him, he fastened it to his loom, and composed original verses to suit it. He
was an eager reader of poetry, but did not dream of becoming a great song- writer ; he
wrote to relieve the tameness of his employment, and read his work only to his little
brother.
Taunahill wrote of love, but he knew it only through the grief it brought him. Jean
King, the sister of a poet of his native town, was his first fancy. Years after she had
married another wooer, her son used to say his mother always " feared that Rob would
write a song about her," but he seems never to have considered her worthy of his lyre.
His next sweetheart, and his last, was also a poet's sister, Mary Allan. Whatever was
the unknown motive which kept her from brightening his life, love does not seem to have
been wanting ; for many years she could not restrain her tears and lamentations at the
mention of her lost lover's name.
388
OUR FAMILIAE SONGS.
ROBERT ARCHIBALD SMITH lived in Paisley for a time, and meeting stray songs of
Tannahill's, and appreciating their beauty, while their author was unknown to him,
he wrote music for some of them, which became popular at once. This led to an invitation
to Tannahill to contribute to a metropolitan periodical, and later, to the publication of a
volume of "Poems and Songs." Many of the latter became widely known. TaimahilFs
heart had now learned to " beat high for praise," and he wrote and re-wrote with care.
But those that held the keys to present fame refused to turn them for the sweetest song-
writer who had knocked since the bard of Ayr; and when, disappointed and disheartened,
ho turned away, a gloom settled down upon his spirit which forbade any further intellect-
ual effort. At this time the Ettrick Shepherd made a journey to Paisley on purpose to
form his acquaintance. The poets passed a happy night together, and on parting, Tannahill
said, " Farewell, we shall never meet again. Farewell, I shall never see you more !"
He showed symptoms of mental disorder, and early one morning, when he \vas but
thirty-six years old, he stole out to a little brook that had often rippled to his more musical
thoughts, and in its mossy bed —
" The poor heart, in this vale of sorrow,
By the storms of life beat sore,
Lay down to a happier morrow,
On the couch where it beat no more."
Allegro.
§
1. Let us go,
2. I will twine
las - sie, go To
thee a bow'r, By
the
the
braes
clear
of Bal -quhidder, "Where the
sil - ler fountain, And I'll
i i <s
' n ^
4t-
~*
— •'
— ''
i
^-r g^ ^ ^ \s j ^ _^ i^
biae - ber-ries grow, 'Mang the bon - nie High-land heather ; "Where the deer and the
cov - er it o'er Wi' the flow - era o' the mountain; I will range through the
3^
rae, Light - ly bound -ing to • geth - er, Sport the lang sim - mer day 'Mang the
wilds, And the deep glens so drea-ry, And re- turn wi' the spoils To the
THE BRAES 0' BALQUHWDEB.
animate.
389
— 0 — — js-|— *< — s N— — R-
3 ' - - P "
-— -
SE 3 — 5
3
"^ ' ' -j
l_ |:
» h» + . * . — '
* 5
-ft
• r »--. •-
0 • ^1
braes
bower
o' Bal-quhidder. Will ye go, las -
o' my dearie. Will ye go, las -
-*—
sie,
sie,
go To the braes
go To the braes
o' Bal -
o' Bal -
-H-
-i — S3§ i r~
~ « j-T-
— « —
—I-
— •
*-r—
42-
1
' f *
— * —
"T
i — L^
1^ ^\ • '
r\ ^j —
, — | ,
F 1
^ —
•=-•
-=»•
1
- quhidder, Where the blae - ber - ries grow, 'Mang the bon - nie bloomin' heather?
___!_
^^ — ==^-T— Zg— +ztr~ #~'^ ^-L^—r^-tl
When the rude wintry win'
Idly raves round our dwelling,
And the roar of the linn
On the night-breeze is swelling ;
Sae merrily we'll sing
As the storm rattles o'er us,
Till the dear shieling ring
Wi' the light lilting chorus.
Will ye go, etc.
Now the summer is in prime,
Wi' the flowers richly blooming,
And the wild mountain thyme
A' the moorlands perfuming;
To our dear native scenes
Let us journey together,
Where glad innocence reigns,
'Mang the braes of Balquhidder.
Will ye go, etc.
OH, TAKE HER, BUT BE FAITHFUL STILL.
THIS song is a joint composition of CHARLES JEFFERYS and SIDNEY NELSON.
Andante con espress.
&
1. Oh! take her, but be faith - ful still, And may
2. The joys of child - hood's hap - py hour, This home
3. Her lot in life is fix'd with thine, Its good
the bri - dal
of ri - per
and ill to
vow,
years,
share ;
y
Be
The
And
v *>
sa - cred held in af - ter
treastir-ed scenes of ear - ly
well I know 'twill be her
=^£j J kj"*^
years,
youth,
pride
And warm - ly breath'd as
In sun - shine and in
To soothe each sor - row
390
OUR FAMILIAR SONOS.
now;
tears;
there.
. ^r
Be - mem - ber, 'tis no common tie
The pur - est hopes her bo - som knew
Then take her, and may fleet -ing time
I ^ r-^w
~g- A ij — •_ j ^ — -i
That binds her youth - ful
When her young heart was
Mark on - ly joy's in
4=
MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING.
BURNS wrote this song for an old and lively tune called " My wife's a wanton wea
thing." When sending it for publicatiou, he said, in a letter dated November 8, 1792,
"There is a peculiar rhythmus in many of our airs, and a necessity of adapting syllables to
the emphasis, or what I call the feature notes of the tune, that cramp the poet, and lay
him under almost insuperable difficulties. For instance, in the air, ' My wife's a wanton wee
thing,' if a few lines smooth and pretty can be adapted to it, it is all you can expect. The
following were made extempore to it; and though, on further study, I might give you
something more profound, yet it might not suit the light-horse gallop of the air, so well as
this random clink."
Burns wrote another song, which is always suggested by this one, although it is not
so familiar. These are the lines :
Bonny wee thing, canny wee thing,
Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,
I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Lest my jewel I should tine.
Wistfully I look and languish,
In that bonnie face o* thine ;
And my heart it stounds with anguish,
Lest my wee thing be na mine.
Wit and grace, and love and beauty,
In ae constellation shine !
To adore thee is my duty,
Goddess of this soul o' mine.
Bonnie wee thing, canny wee thing,
Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,
I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Lest my jewel I should tine.
I do not know whether both songs were inspired by the same heroine, but Burns tells
us that the " Bonnie wee thing " was " composed on my little idol, the charming, lovely
Davies." Allan Cunningham says of this object of Burns's admiration, that "her education
was superior to that of most young ladies of her station of life ; she was equally agreeable
and witty ; her company was much courted in Nithsdale, and others than Burns respected
her talents in poetic compositions." A disappointment in love brought this gifted and
interesting young woman to an early grave.
Lively.
MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING. 391
Arranged by Edward S. Cnmmings.
1. My wife's a win - some wee thing, She is a hand -some wee thing; She
2. She is a win - some wee thing, She is a hand -some wee thing ; She
r-7-
lit I
ir-*i-»r~ 3=
-*— *
H=3=
j-*— *— *— ^ ^"^
if—*—*
tet«=i;
»*—*—*--•—»-
">~~
I
is a bon - nie wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine-
is a bon - nie wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine.
— T-t-l— T- i J J
I nev - er saw a fair
The world's wrack we share
er, I nev - er lo'ed a dear
o't, The wars - tie and the care
I
er, And
o't, Wi'
m m
3EES^E^= 3
J »
I 1 ^ 4- <f
^^P= .- -^^f >-
-i-
neist
her
my heart I'll wear
Fll blythe - ly bear
her, For fear my jew - el tine,
it, And think my lot di - vine.
-?— -
392
OUK FAMILIAR SONGS.
THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.
SAMUEL LOVER wrote a series of poems upon the superstitious fancies of the Irish
people, and this song is one of them. Most of the traditions which he embodies, are
common to various nations, and we are all familiar with the pretty one upon which " The
Angel's Whisper" is founded. The fancy is, that when a child smiles in its sleep, angels
are talking with it.
Of the music, Lover says : " The song was written to an old Irish air (one of the few
Moore left untouched), entitled, 'Mary, do you fancy me?' Words have been written to
it, but they were ineffective, and left the air still in oblivion, while mine had better fortune,
and made this charming melody widely known ; and I think it may be allowed to be
pardonably pleasing to an author, that it is now known by the name of ' The Angel's
Whisper.'"
TTLrt I1
3N
J
j
K t. ' r 1 J •! -1 J m 3
w^ — ^—
H *
« 0
J &-
=L_g 3 j J 3 r_j —
i ' 9 * — * — •— —s — ^. ' g — * — *—
1. A ba - by was sleep - ing, Its moth - er was weep - ing, For her
2. Her beads while she num - ber'd The ba - by still slum - bered, And
0 mm mm ^/^~m
A
i^^L ( *
-f- P ^ -\
r
=£ -f- f- 1 m .L-
^ *v *-* — p —
1 r — f — *
9 1* —
H» • • •— -fr^ff
V !
v v
1
J v \ V V 1 " V p
^
^
±
bus - band was
smiled in her
*_
wild- ra-ging sea; And the tern -pest was swelling 'Round the
bend-ed her knee: "Oh, blessed be that warning, My
JS k J J\ h • m f m f. *-
*
±
V»
-v — v-
fish - er
child, thy
- man's dwell-ing. And
sleep a-dorn-ing, For
V V I
:f
g
A baby was sleeping,
Its mother was weeping,
For her husband was far on the wild-raging sea,
And the tempest was swelling,
'Round the fisherman's dwelling,
As she cried, " Dermot, darling, oh ! come back
to me ! "
Her beads while she numbered,
The baby still slumbered,
And smiled in her face as she bended her knee :
" Oh, blessed be that warning,
My child, thy sleep adorning —
For I know that the angels are whispering with
thee.
"And while they are keeping,
Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,
Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me —
And say thou would'st rather
They watch o'er thy father,
For I know that the angels are whispering with
thee."
The dawn of the morning,
Saw Dermot returning,
And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see,
And closely caressing
Her child with a blessing,
Said, " I knew that the angels were whispering
with thee."
WE'RE A' NODDING
WE'RE A' NODDIN'.
393
THE song of " Nid, nid, noddiu' " is old, and there are many versions. The melody
has not been altered so much as the words. Baroness Nairne wrote a version which is
good, but is not so well-known as the anonymous one we give. There is a familiar set of
words, which is too absolute doggerel for repetition. The singers at our " old folks con.
certs " put themselves to sleep over this piece ; being evidently under the impression that
" nid, nid, noddin' " means, growing drowsy. Whereas, " noddin' " means joyous, and the
sentiment is most lively ; everybody is noddin' because " Jamie he's cam' hame."
Moderate. &•
vL ( * j*1 J 1
3 E3
F
^*=fs
* \
1 i 1 N ^ 1
r-f?H
x N 1 trz
1. And we're a' nod- din',
-&*—. 1 ' ' I — n
/ / * ^ - —
=» W 9 4_* - 0. ^_*_ ^l 0 ± J_ __
f Gude
nid, nid, noddin' ,Andwe're a' nod-din' at our house at hame. < Oh,
(. When he
^ Jill J J I 1 1 ^ ! ^ '
^0 — «
^^^1
J J .
-
—
—f
•
j~
t
- -*
F
T"1^
-fl-^ 4 * -
T 1
^jft -i i — ^
-^ d *
^
— ~— — al
1 ii
£I_2 " j •"•
1 |
—
ll w
t — 3
i
J +
1 J
5
yjt -. ^
; ^
e'en to ye, kimmer, And
sair ha'e I fought, Ear' and
knock - et at the door, I
are ye a-lane? Oh,
late did I toil, My
thocht I kent the rap, And
come and see how blithe are we, For
bair-nies for to feed and dead, My
lit - tie Ka - tie cried a-loud, " My
gg=q=
m
^
Ja- mie he's cam' hame, And oh, but he's been lang a - wa', And oh, my heart was sair, As
comfort was their smile! When I thocht on Ja-mie far a - wa', An? o' his love sa fain, A
dad- die, he's cam' back !" A stoun gaed thro' my anxious breast, As thocht-ful-ly I sat, I
JLS — J — _ — !^j — i — J_J-
1 J
^- —
f- -f-
Hi — *c
=\
V ..-.4
l^g f — =j— ^ — - — -£- — ^ — i
-i
f
*
l ; —
•Hh
\ '
=4
1
J
L.
t=f=
Lj ^
~ j
394
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
ton , — = — ? • f f — r — p T
~i — J^ — F — i^ — i — r — R — Mr
— 3 — n
Isobb'dout a lang fare weel, May be to meet nae mair. Noo we're
bo -din' thrill cam' thro' my heart, We'd may be meet a -gain. Noo we're
raise, I gazed, fell in his arms, And burst- ed out and grat. Noo we're
ffi f — i— — £— ~x • — =<— "^ — i — H— *
a' nod - din',
a' nod- din',
a' nod- din',
J ''J J :
y f M =*
1 f
j j. i1
1 1
'< 4 T
J* H F — L— -L
^
1 1 k r^«
J j j 1
y* r N K K
K P 1
N h. I'll
fa- -J J E=i — J J
-«L _J -j J-UL-*
-j^ J J:
nid, nid, nod - din', And we're
Hi — i — j '-i r^r
a' nod - din' at our
N II — H-
• i • . ii
house at hame.
^- i i *t=
H j j — n-
^5^1
^3rff — ^ 6*|
r j 4 j
11 J a 'i
-0 JJi
And we're a' noddin',
Nid, nid, noddin',
And we're a' noddin'
At our house at hame.
Gude e'en to ye, kimmer,
And are ye alane ?
Oh, come and see how blythe are we,
For Jamie he's cam' hame.
And oh, he's been lang awa',
And oh, my heart was sair,
As I sobbed out a lang fareweel,
May be to meet nae mair.
Noo we're a' noddin', etc.
Oh, sair ha'e I fought,
Ear' and late did I toil,
My bairnies for to feed and clead,
My comfort was their smile !
When I thocht on Jamie far awa',
An' o' his love sa fain,
A bodin' thrill cam' thro' my heart,
We'd may be meet again.
Noo we're a' noddin', etc.
When he knocket at the door,
I thocht I kent the rap,
And little Katie cried aloud,
" My daddie, he's cam' back !"
A stoun gaed thro' my anxious breast^
As thochtfully I sat,
I raise, I gazed, fell in his arms,
And bursted out and grat.
Noo we're a' noddin',
Nid, nid, noddin',
And we're a' noddin'
At our house at hame.
NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE.
THE authorship of this exquisite Scottish song has- long been a subject of dispute.
Conflicting claims are urged by the friends of WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE, and JEAN ADAM.
Mickle's claim rests upon the affirmation by Rev. John Sim, editor of Mickle's works, that
Mrs. Mickle perfectly recollected her husband's giving her the ballad as his own production,
and explaning to her English ears the unfamiliar Scottish words and phrases. Jean
Adam's title to the honor is upheld principally by the statement of Mrs. Fullerton, a
pupil of Miss Adam's, who had many times heard her repeat it, and distinctly claim the
authorship.
NAE L UCK A B OUT THE HO USE. 395
In such a dilemma, we must resort to internal evidence. Mickle was born in Lang-
holm, Dumfries, Scotland, and lived in Edinburgh and London, finally settling near Oxford.
In all these places, he was far from the scenes of simple fisher-folk life, so graphically
•described in the song. His greatest work was a translation of the " Lusiad," from the
Portuguese of Camoens. His style in the poem is described by Campbell, as " free, flowery,
3nd periphrastical, comparatively spirited, but departing widely from the majestic simplicity
of the original." In elaborate notes upon the poem, he defends all that has been called
defective in the work he translates. Of Mickle's original " Syr Martin," Campbell says that.
" the simplicity of the tale is unhappily overlaid by a weight of allegory and obsolete
phraseology, which it has not importance to sustain." Mickle's pretty ballad of " Cumnor
Hall," the opening lines of which Walter Scott was fond of repeating, and which suggested
to him the novel of " Kenihvorth," is a descriptive poem, but does not contain a hint of
the delicate homeliness that charms us in our song. Mickle was a scholar and a man of
genius; he could describe a stately ruin in stately rhyme, and he wrote some pleasing
ballads ; but his hand had not
." The cunning to draw
Shapes of things he never saw."
Allan Cunningham, in discussing Mickle's claim, says: "He has written nothing else in
the peculiar style of that composition, and we know that the reputation of having written
it was long enjoyed by another — Miss Jean Adam. Now the claim of Mickle depends on
the conclusion we may choose to draw from the fact of the song, with variations, being
found in his handwriting. Many of the songs which Burns transcribed, or dressed up for
the Museum, have been mistaken for his own compositions, and, in like manner, Mickle
may unwittingly have made another person's song his own, which he had only sought to
oorrect or embellish." Twenty years had passed between Mrs. Mickle's marriage, the
supposed date of the song, and the discovery of the copy by Sim, and during that tmie
Mrs. Mickle had been attacked by paralysis, and, even in speaking of it, she frequently
confounded this ballad with others of her husband's, in a totally different style. David
Hume emphatically said, that " Mrs. Mickle was not a person whose evidence was of much
•consequence at any time."
Greenock, the well-known seaport town of the West of Scotland, was divided, by a
wide bay, into two little settlements. In one of these, called Crawfurdsdyke, Jean Adam
was born, about 1710. Her father was a ship-master, and Jean received a good education
for the day and place. But her father died, and the girl went into the family of a clergy-
man hear by, as a sort of nurse and teacher. She was an eager student in the minister's
library, the results of which appeared in the subjects of a volume of original poems which
she published by subscription shortly afterward. Among the titles are : " A Dialogue be-
tween Soul and Curiosity," " Curiosity and the Soul anent the keeping of the Ten Command-
ments," " On Creation," " On Abel," " On Astrea," " On Cleopatra." A long list of local
names appears on the fly-leaves of the book — Crawfurds by the dozen; "Dame Margaret,,
of Castlemilk ; " titled Temples and Montgomeries ; baronets, and lairds ; ministers, school-
masters, and tradesmen of all grades. After leaving service, Jean opened a select school
in the best portion of the town, known as the quay-head. Here she taught for years, with
little external change or excitement. There is a tradition that she once closed her school
for six weeks, and went to London, walking a great portion of the way. The principal
inspiration of the journey, was the hope that she might see Richardson, author of " Clarissa
Harlowe." There are also traditions of her reading Shakespeare aloud to her pupils, when
the world about her looked upon him as a dangerous playwright, and of her singing
her own songs now and then. In later life, she sent the surplus copies of her poems to
396
OUR FAMILIAE SONGS.
Boston, Mass., but she never received any return. Her slowly accumulated savings wera
in the venture, and in her old age the school-teacher poetess had to seek such employment
as she could find about the neighborhood. She was nurse and general helper in sudden
family emergencies. Mrs. Fullerton tells of having once given her clothing, which her
independence forbade her to take away, but finally she returned for it when harder pressed
by poverty. At last she wandered to Glasgow, and two of the baillies of Greenock found
her admittance to the poor-house, as " a poor woman in distress, a stranger who had been
wandering about." There she died the next day,Apnl 3, 1765.
Burns says that " There's Nae luck about the house " came on the streets as a ballad
about 1771 -'2, ten or eleven years before Mrs. Mickle thinks her husband wrote it. Mrs.
Fullerton not only left her testimony to having heard Jean Adam sing it as her own, with
her daughter, who married a Crawfurd, but Mrs. Crawford says: "My aunt, Mrs. Crawfurd
of Cartsburn, often sang it as a song of Jean Adam's."
The scenery and expressions of the song are suited to the location of the west of
Scotland, and peculiarly to Greenock. The name of the hero, Colin, while almost unknown
in other parts of Scotland, is very common in this; and the tradition of the town even
points to a particular Colin and Jean — Colin and Jean Campbell, — as the originals of the
song. In the local phrase, " Jean made a great work about her man," and even the exqui-
site fancy of the " foot with music in 't, as he comes up the stair," has an added pictur-
esqueness from the fact, that from the quay up to the " quay-head," where the well-to-do-
people had their homes, there was a mighty stairway, built of sounding Norway deal.
JF K~M~ £ M
0 • **' r* i
|* !
. _I . •» »
\^ A. t i/ f ij
--*
1. And are ye sure the news is true? And are ye sure he's
2. Rise up and mak' a clean fire • side, Put on the muc - kle
weel ? Is
pot ; Gie
« t
T ' "i H
jf w fft m up
'~i ?
« •
RT) 4 ' P^^ J ^
H ^ f
f
_L_,_J r_4
^^^J
TfTTf* t—
* *
-• •
L^r
J 1— r
_j ^ — i
••- .
—-^4-— I , j
_h f_
-i-i — _i
fe^-^
» #—. —
' S" 'V P c ^ ^ S T , i
- • m J\ '3; A . j> - A ' •
^-v
this
lit - t
a time
le Kate
•
to
her
talk
cot
o'
- ton
9
wark?
gown,
Ye
And
jades,
Jock
fling by
his Sun -
your
day
wheel !
coat;
IH
And
THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE.
397
j? L ~* * »' U5 "" "" ~fi 'V"f*" f
r-» ^ - -«,
-|--1 s — ?~3
i[P — £ ^ — L4< £ ^ ^ — J
this a time to think o' wark, When
mak' their shoon as black as slaes, Their
Co - lin's at the
hose as white as
&—=* — : *-
• « -
door? Gie
snaw ; It's
fee — LH^J — f- j T \ ' J- — • 1 —
**^^± — ^ — F1
-— j-T ^ j
^ * *• * *
C}i * — — + — * — • —
• — J
F* *
"if
^±—\ 1- r- (- !
_ /T\
-4-
J-Jj ,7 ,.
-^l '
1 * H»
$b— l^ Q * • H 5 '— rf
r^ *_^ ,-
me my cloak, I'll to the quay, And
a' to please my ain gude - man, For
. see him come a
he's been lang a
- shore. For there's
- wa.' For there's
^.^-J-- _f |C ^ ,-•.—-* * jjj
— 1~"~^- * ~*
_j — .j ^^H
t" ? (• ? • (•
^J 0 9 * '0— !- -«
9 i
5 * 1
SH H5 M=*=
\=$ «
— f 2 — dj
^
K-
r~
There's
luck a - bout the house, There's nae luck at a';
398
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
And are ye sure the news is true ?
And are ye sure he's weel ?
Is this a time to talk o' wark?
Ye jades, fling by your wheel !
Is this a time to think o' wark,
When Colin's at the door?
Gie me my cloak, I'll to the quay,
And see him come ashore.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a' ;
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa'.
Rise up and mak' a clean fireside,
Put on the muckle pot;
Gie little Kate her cotton gown,
And Jock his Sunday coat;
And mak' their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw ;
It's a' to please my ain gudeman,
For he's been lang awa'.
For there's nae luck, etc.
There are twa hens upon the bauk,
Been fed this month and mair,
Mak' haste and thraw their necks about
That Colin weel may fare :
And spread the table neat and clean,
Gar ilka thing look braw ;
For wha can tell how Colin fared
When he was far awa'.
For there's nae luck, etc.
Come, gie me down my bigonet,
My bishop-satin gown ;
And rin and tell the Bailie's wife
That Colin's come to tow,n ;
My Turkey-slippers they maun gae on,
My hose o' pearl blue ;
It's a' to please my ain gudeman,
For he's baith leal and true.
For there's nae luck, etc.
Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,
His breath like caller air!
His very foot has music in't
As he comes up the stair:
And will I see his face again ?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.
For there's nae luck, etc.
The cauld blasts o' the winter wind,
That thirled through my heart,
They're a' blawn by, I hae him safe,
Till death we'll never part :
But what's put parting in my head ?
It may be far awa';
The present moment is our ain,
The neist we never saw !
For there's nae luck, etc.
Since Colin's weel, I'm weel content,
I hae nae mair to crave ;
Could I but live to mak' him blest,
I'm blest aboon the lave.
And will I see his face again ?
And will I hear him speak ?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.
For there's nae luck, etc.
TOUCH US GENTLY, TIME.
THIS is one of BRYAN WALLER PROCTER'S (Barry Cornwall) songs, and very character-
istic of his gentle, winsome style it is.
s> >
1. Touch us gent - ly, gent - ly, Time !
2. Touch us gent-ly, gent - ly, Time !
Let us glide a - down thy stream Gent-ly,
We've not proud nor soar - ing wings ; Our am-
TOUCH US
GENTLY, TIME.
/TS
399
wh\ tf " _ J ! •• — J ., J J
J »< — ~
i ^ *!
v'K •" » 00 9 ' 0 0 0 *l
. d ,. y. « ^.i
* * 2
1 1 1
as we sometimes glide, Thro' a qi
bi - tion. our con - tent. Lies in sii
i - et, qui - et dream ; Humble vc
a - pie, sim -pie, things ; Humble vc
f 1 1 ^ f ' *
» • •
>j - & - gers are
>y - a - gers are
-. . ^ "K,. 9 4 i
i J -A - -- m
1 1 1
^lf5+W _f I !* - • M» p p f
1 1 M m ' m ~t
> • • *
"T 1 Iv _y
- • , J r f * _f
r r F '
,,u
* * 1 U > 1
fczteid
1 1 1
Pff — ^ 1^_ I — 1
i ^ J ' |
— .^ — r~7^ — — 4 — 2 —
— 9 —
^2 * v ^f J ^
^ l 5?J * '
— 1 M
we, Husband, wife, and chil
we O'er life's dun, un-sound
^JV • wf ^il, 1 t (-»
^"jZguffig. I * P P
- dren three, One is lost -
- ed sea, Seek-ing on
-* J *<^ £
-an an - gel
- ly some calm
h -h — h»-
— f ^ f —
^ > ^ i i^ ^^C
"f ^^ ^^~~ ^* __-_!
^ ',/ | ,
To the a - zure o - ver head, Touch ns gent - ly, O gen-tie Time!
Touch us gent - ly, gen- tie Time, Touch us gent - ly, O gen-tie Timel
L^LLJ '~'
Touch us gently, Time !
Let us glide adown thy stream
Gently — as we sometimes glide
Through a quiet dream.
Humble voyagers are we —
Husband, wife, and children three —
(One is lost — an angel, fled
To the azure overheard.)
Touch us gently, Time !
We've not proud nor soaring wings;
Our ambition, our content,
Lies in simple things.
Humble voyagers are we,
O'er Life's dim, unsounded sea,
Seeking only some calm clime —
Touch us gently, gentle Time !
JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.
THERE was a very ancient fragment of song which bore this name, and tradition points to
the town piper of Kelso, a famous wag, as the original John. The tune is very old. As early
as 1578, it was found written in Queen Elizabeth's « Virginal Book." Some English author-
ities think it is a modification of an ancient English air, " I am the Duke of Norfolk."
Moore altered it, and included it among his Irish melodies, under the title of " Cruiskin
Lawn." Only the two stanzas really written by BURNS are given here, although many by
inferior hands have been added from time to time. Perhaps the one most familiarly asso-
ciated with Burns's lines, is the following stanza, by WILLIAM REID, who was a bookseller
in Glasgow, and a personal friend of Burns.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
When Nature first began
To try her canny hand, John,
Her masterpiece was man ;
And you amang them a', John,
Sae trig f rae tap to toe —
She proved to be nae journeyman,
John Anderson, my jo.
400
or/,' FAMILIAR SONGS.
1. John An - der - son, my jo, John, When we were first ac - quent, Your
2. John An - der - son, my jo, John, We clamb the hill the-gith- er, And
s
*
Hp£BF=FF
^¥=
J J
^
-*
£*
— p — • —
9 — f—
•* &* 3—
P-J f — E
locks were like the
mony a can - tie
0 i 1 ] — i
L-j i ' — LJ P — 1 1 — ' — '
ra - veu, Your bon - nie brow was brent; But
day, John, We've had wi' ane a- nith-er; Now
\>' — •«. J- — - * *r= J— — * & ~— —
$ 1 I i ^
1
p- +> i
L=5 P
a
(t>¥. 1 1
—&- ^-f2
o &
-
HE! J
H F — —
— 1 1
&
-|-
chrr n
p? p f~l
i r. , J — JH
IS Is
^p — I — ~\f r 1 —
now your brow Is
we maun tot - ter
bald, John, Your
down, John, But
~§~ — g
-t — $-^- — =
locks are like the
hand in hand we'll
p£r—t — t-~j-|
_| * 1 ~~~ L
snow, Yet
go. And we'll
W f 3 =^
L^ r i
— i — j —
r
~P-* 5 1
*-^ — & —
(SJ ^L —
— — —
-j: x 1
£\, f i r~
-+ P*h-
j .
1 1 H
BE — f- — F — Efe * — i ^r-
bless - ings on your frost - y pow, John
sleep the - gith - er at the foot, John
*L\) g 3 * ss —
__| J J j tf^ H
An - der - son, my jo.
An - der - son, my jo.
— —\ 1 1 1 H
iu r
^i
r-^-r-
Z^T* I
i ' n
^ J — I—
_ 1 , *
1 *
E — — ' H
SONGS OF PLEASANTRY.
Then is not he the wisest man
Who rids his brow of wrinkles,
Who bears his load with merry heart,
And lightens it by half,
Whose pleasant tones ring in the ear,
As mirthful music trinkles,
And whose words are true and telling,
Though they echo with a laugh?
— Anonymous.
Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring,
Swings the wheel, spins the reel, which the foot's stirring ;
Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing,
Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing.
—John Francis Watter.
SONGS OF PLEASANTRY,
COMIN' THRO' THE RYE.
THE author of this song is unknown. Previous to Christmas, 1795-'6, when the
English claim that it appeared in an English pantomime,an old familiar Scottish song waa
touched up by Burns, which referred to the fording of the little Eiver Eye. It read :
Comin' through theRye, poor body,
Comin' through the Rye,
She draiglet a' her petticoatie
Comin' through the Rye.
Oh, Jenny's a' wat, poor body,
Jenny's seldom dry ;
She draiglet a' her petticoatie,
Comin' through the Rye.
Gin a body meet a body,
Comin' through the Rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry ?
Gin a body meet a body
Comin' through the glen,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need the warld ken ?
O Jenny's a1 wat, poor body,
Jenny's seldom dry ;
She draiglet a' her petticoatie,
Comin' through the Rye.
So we see that the popular idea of the song, understood as having reference to passing
through a field of grain, is erroneous. It furnishes a striking example of that popular
comprehension, or want of comprehension, which so often catches at a word instead of an
idea. In pictorial title-pages, and other ways, the song has been often illustrated, — and
always as an encounter in a waving field of rye. Eecently the idea has been utilized by
the manufacturers of a celebrated brand of rye whiskey, who have hung in every bar-room
a finely executed chromo representing the lovers in the rye-field. The full significance of
the song is apparent when we know that custom established a toll of kisses to be exacted
from lasses who were met in crossing the stream on the stepping-stones. The first stanza
of an old English song, reads :
If a body meet a body,
Going to the fair,
If a body kiss a body,
Need a body care ?
Allegretto Moderate.
1. Gin a bo - dy meet
2. Gin a bo - dy meet
3. A - mang the train there is
a bo - dy
a bo - dy
a swain
Com - in' thro' the Rye,
Com - in' frae the town,
dear-ly lo'e my- seP; But
KHEHZI2 " J I "
! M ' •— • - >,
1V \) - . 0.
. * m ..
*J A
. , ! 1 ,
<• h \.J i. _iH
— a j £
-1 2 £ S
404
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
--R — *-v
Gin a bo - dy kiss a bo - dy£ Need a bo - dy cry?
Gin a bo - dy meet a bo - dv Need a bo - dv frown?
what his name, or whaur his hame, I din - na care to tell.
^
f
*
^.1 1 -
1 ;
— 3
— s ^
2-jj — *— — 0 —
=?-
— « • *-, J 1
0
.
11 - ka las - sie has her lad - die,
Nane, they say, hae I,
Yet
• • *
_^_^_ _^ — _^_ __ -^— n
a' the
lads they smile at
me, When
ss\
E -H
com - in' thro' the Bye.
i -p* "5 ! 1 1
JT L| ^ M
J *f « *f
J *f
* *T
R^
* 7 J 7
| . . 7
m 0 — : m — " H
"^
_^=: $_
>
N » » * «
CK-» — J" i
— 1 te 1 a -H
^ n '
1 i. 1
— »
«T—
_L * u_
* ^-1 1 1
THE LOW-BACKED CAR.
* " THE Low-Backed Car " was one of the songs which SAMUEL LOYER wrote and com-
posed for his entertainment called " Irish Evenings."
Lively, but not too fast. -
1. When first I saw sweet Peg - gy,
2. In bat - tie's wild com -mo - tion,
Twas on a mar - ket day,
The proud and might - y Mars,
THE LOW-BAGGED CAB.
40o
5r * H^ — m*
low - back'd car she drove, and sat Up - on a truss of hay;
hos - tile scythes de - mands his tythes Of death in war - like cars.
But
But
J(Li- , — 0 — 1
A*t? — 1 0 f
^ » 2 •» ' N'~
_ — __ , —
-» -a — * N —
when that hay was bloom -ing grass, Anddeck'd with flow'rs of spring, No
Peg - gy, peace - ful god - dess, Has darts in her bright eye. That
tfT5^~^ tr T P~
3 —
» «f r «r
^ ' A. 7
* *
m 4? — * :
E '-zt— 9— l-|=i=r-
=r 7-Jn 7 ^ ^F|
fat
— ) —
-^
— i — —
0 0
4-0-
•
-v^r
— i^—
*
=£
— 4-
H —
sSB
»
.1
_£
j
•/
flow'r
knock
was
men
there,
down
that
in the
could
mar
compare, To
- ket town,
the bloom
As right
-ing
and
girl
left t
*-k— — « — >— — if—- tH ^— H—
-- H
3
£
b=J— r— l===f±
^=£
i=^ "H-l ^^fj-'— =* :*=
5
^•3*-
?=£=*:
3=*=*=^^
-• — *— L~*— =a=
-*-^-
==*=:&
y-^3— g^
sat in her low -back'd car,
sits in her low -back'd car,
The man at the turn - pike bar,
Than bat -tie more daug'rous far,
Nev - er
For the
ask'dfor the toll, But just rubb'd his auld poll, And look'daf- ter the low - back'd carl
doc - tor's art, Can -not cure the heart That is hit from the low • back'd car!....
eolla voce.
-9 — 9-
colla -voce.
^M *f "^
^J-JLJ-H
;S^^j-Tl
406
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
Sweet Peggy round her car, sir,
Has strings of ducks and geese,
But the scores of hearts she slaughters,
By far outnumber these.
While she among her poultry sits,
Just like a turtle dove,
Well worth the cage, I do engage,
Of the blooming god of Love.
While she sits in her low-backed car
The lovers come near and far,
And envy the chicken,
That Peggy is pickin',
While she sits in her low-backed car.
I'd rather own that car, sir,
With Peggy by my side,
Than a coach-and-four, and gold galore.
And a lady for my bride ;
For the lady would sit forninst me,
On a cushion made with taste, —
While Peggy would be beside me,
With my arm around her waist.
As we drove in a low-backed car,
To be married by Father Maher,
Oh ! my heart would beat high,
At her glance and her sigh,
Though it beat in a low-backed carl
<GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O.
BUBNS calls this song of his " a fragment." Its chorus he caught from an old song.
He says : " I do not see that the turn of mind and pursuits of such a one as the above
verses decribe — one who spends the hours and thoughts which the vocations of the day
can spare, with Ossian, Shakespeare, Thomson, Shenstone, Sterne, &c., — are in the least
more inimical to the sacred interests of piety and virtue, then the even lawful bustling and
straining after the world's riches and honors."
1. There's nought but care on ev' - ry ban', In ev' - ry hour that pass -es, 0 1
2. The warld- ly race may rich-es chase, An' rich-cs still may fly them, O!
8. Gie me a can - nie hour at e'en, My arms a - bout my dea - rie, O I
What
An'
An'
£E3E?EEEE3E3EE£
I ..§p_
1/
jjtfe I-. J N . , »
-H -fr7
s HS —
- -V
1
*j
sig -
tho'
warld
ni
at
-ly
*
»
- fies
last
cares
45:
the life o' man, An'
they catch them fast, Their
and warld - ly men May
1 K — K 1
*l ' " "
J-T * *-r
'twere na' for
hearts can ne'er
a' gae tap -
_!*• «r
— »_i — 0—
the las
en - joy
sal - tee
-B K
-*• .
- 868,
them,
- rie,
•
i
O!
OI
(m7 v — f\ —
Z
.»
/
•*•
f
_I g 2_
— F ^-Z:
J 7 p
* «*
~f ? *-
_2
M
*
•
j
—I .
V >
«L
— ~
= 1 ^—
=5 — - -*—
7"
0 1 *
GREEN GROW THE SASHES, O.
407
•*-* — — !-T 1—
sweet- est hours that ere I spent Were spent a-mang the las - ses, "o\
For you sae douce, wha sneer at this,
Ye're naught but senseless asses, O !
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,
He dearly lo'ed the lasses, O.
Green grow the rashes, O ! etc.
Auld Nature swears the lovely dears
Her noblest works she classes, O !
Her 'prentice han' she tried on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.
Green grow the rashes, 0 1 etc.
MOLLY CAREW.
THE words of this song are by SAMUEL LOVER, who says they were " suggested by one
of Carolan's finest bursts of melody, entitled, ' Planxty Keilly/ and its capricious measure
may be guessed at by the unusual length and variety of the following metres." Lover
adds : " The intensely Irish character of the air, stimulated me to endeavor that the words
should partake of that quality, and the rapid replication of musical phrases made me strain
after as rapid a ringing of rhyme, of which our early bards were so fond." " Weirasthru ! "
is an appeal to the Virgin, — " 0 Mary, have pity ! " Francis Mahony (" Father Prout") trans-
lated this song into Latin.
V fi ? . fr» rf 1* j^ £ f< * j^~
— N r f3 p — N p— |
*$\) O * ^ 1 ** , *
0 * 0 0
*r V -*• * *
OcA - hone! 1. Oh, what will I do? Sure my
Och - hone! 2. But why should I spake Of your
rt 1 '
ove is all crost, Like a
fore - head and eyes, When your
Rty§~*~* j ^ — * tr ~1 — ^ J —
_I 1 _| 1 i 1 . [
•^ ' •* * -J- -i
* * * *
"?— Q- & • j ' ? * 7 ^ '
1 r
ad lib. *y^
» -^ 0 7 -j
r
-f 1 — ~TTt' ! — *l — 0* ~sr~
(^ * ^- -^^^^ — p— jp ^ ^ — =t'~ ^^^
t^
bud in the frost, And there's no use at all in my
nose it de - fies Pad-dy Blake, the school - mas - ther, to
^ — £ — ^=^— 5— ^=d
go - ing to bed, For 'tis
put it in rhyme ; Tho' there'*
colla voce.
Z~\\ • ~ — ' ' M if" in if
_2 — ±=_ij — ?_^j_4— j
_/• «•"•?•» 7 y 2
r-s J±" '
Li :« J
403
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
'spress.
-U-—* 0 » * 0 4
5 - s 1 , _ . 3 * •
S -*, --j
V" i/ ^ \jl ^ ^rf ^ — — 1— ^ —_,. ., ^ . — ^— - -
dhramcs, and not sleep, that comes in - to my head; And 'tis all a - bout you, My sweet
one Burke, he says, that would call it snub- lime. And then for your cheek, Troth 'twould
sr~7 — r™^ — 7 _j — 3 —
_«? _— ^ _j 5 —
.if — p: ^ — i Nlj
^f— *— —s ^— T-S
* * *
— s — — i — :
t=J • i
Z Z *
' 7 1 ~
*
7 -| 7
—0 « 1
1 — (
it— « -K -in j -N ^ t "** — ? — r — ? — *~:
=15=1
Mol - ly Ca - rew ! And in - deed 'tis a sin and a
take him a week" Its beau - ties to tell as he'd
-r f^y — i
shame 1 .... You're com-
ra - ther; Then your
«?~
fff\ ' -i -| ^ ,N / 1 M M \-
-|
"4 -.- *
•*• • -9-
,^\« -| k |
_3
> . 9 --,
-mr-i— —W— — 7-
|0 S - K ..N -^_J
^ .,..,. ^ ._ _
h-^ ^ ^ • is s r -\
pla - ter than na - ture in
lips 1 oh, ma-chree 1 in their
ev - e - ry fa - ture. The
beau - ti - ful glow They a
snow can't com - pare with your
pat - them might be for the
:ac~~s _j — «r 1 —
r "^ /
* I!
7 1| ' -1 '•- \
» 1' ^ M MM
IB s ~ *
+ ? * +
i~\* '
j
— 1 " 1 1
V^= -* 1— * 1
J «f J •»
_^_ _Z _';
3 — i— 4= m
-
forehead so fair! And I'd rath - er jist see but one blink of your eye Than the
cher-rie to grow. 'Twas an ap - pie that tempt -ed our moth - er, we know, For
i
*r
3E ^EE*
±-jr
MOLLY CABEW.
409
H -N-~ -B?H
s — ^ — if^ — 1 —
VT \J \J > ~ i> iv '
., .0 . ^0
. * „ . ^ J
• ^ f ! J J— -J
J \J L :J * * 1
pur - ti - est star that shines out of the sky! And by this and by that! for the
ap -pies were scarce, I sup - pose, long a - go; But at this time o day, pon my
(K— 7 1 | 7 (•— | 9
~~!
5
7 • - i 7 J - -i —
•* * A % $ % %
£); •— B ^ 5 S *~ =
*r *~ 1~ f~
•+ •+ •*• * .
j , .
•} «J
_J f 3 J —
- — *
z <
i j —
7 1 '-
mat-ther
conscience
o'
I'll
that You'reTnore dis- tant by far than that game. Och - hone/
Such cher - ries might tempt a man's fa - ther ! Och - hone!
Ochone ! and what will I do ?
Sure my love is all crost,
Like a bud in the frost;
And there's no use at all in my going to bed,
For 'tis dhrames and not sleep that comes into
my head;
And 'tis all about you,
My sweet Molly Carew,
And indeed 'tis a sin and a shame !
You're complater than nature,
In every feature ;
The snow can't compare
With your forehead so fair ;
And I rather would see just one blink of your eye
Than the purtiest star that shines out of the
sky;
And by this and by that,
For the matter o' that,
You're more distant by far than that same !
Ochone ! weirasthru !
Ochone ! I'm alone !
I'm alone in this world without you.
Ochone ! but why should I spake
Of your forehead and eyes,
When your nose it defies
PaddyBlake, the schoolmasther, to put itinihyme;
Tho' there's one Burke, he says, that would call it
snublime.
And then for your cheek,
Troth 'twould take him a week
Its beauties to tell, as he'd rather;
Then your lips, oh, machree !
In their beautiful glow,
They a patthern might be
For the cherries to grow.
'Twas an apple that tempted our mother, we
know.
For apples were scarce, I suppose, long ago ;
But at this time o' day,
'Pon my conscience, I'll say,
Such cherries might tempt a man's father!
Ochone ! weirasthru ;
Ochone ! I'm alone !
I'm alone in this world without you.
410
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
Ochone ! by the man in the moon,
You taze me always
That a woman can plaze,
For you dance twice as high with that thief, Pat
Magee,
As when you take share of a jig, dear, with me.
Tho' the piper I bate,
For fear the old chate,
Wouldn't play you your favorite tune.
And when you're at mass,
My devotion you crass,
For 'tis thinking of you
I am, Molly Carew.
While you wear, on purpose, a bonnet so deep
That I. can't at your sweet, purty face get a
peep.
Och, lave off that bonnet,
Or else I'll lave on it,
The loss of my wandhering sowl!
Ochone ! weirasthru !
Ochone ! like an owl,
Day is night, dear, to me without you !
Ochone ! don't provoke me to do it ;
For there's girls by the score
That loves me — and more :
And you'd look mighty quare if some morning
you'd meet,
My wedding all marching in pride down the street
Troth, you'd open your eyes,
And you'd die with surprise,
To think 'twasn't you was come to it:
And faith, Katty Naile,
And her cow, I go bail,
Would jump if I'd say,
" Katty Naile, name the day."
And tho' you're fresh and fair as a morning in May,
While she's short and dark, like a cowld winter's
day,
Yet, if you don't repent
Before Easter, when Lent
Is over I'll marry for spite.
Ochone ! weirasthru !
And when I die for you,
My ghost will haunt you every night !
WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBORO'.
THIS song is a fine illustration of the immortality of a melody, whatever the words
may be to which we are obliged to hum it. These words are a modern version of a song
that appeared in 1698, called "Within a furlong of Edinburgh town," supposed to have
been written by THOMAS D'UEFEY, an English dramatist and musician, born in 1649. He
performed his own music before Charles II., James, William and Mary, Queen Anne, and
George, Prince of Denmark. He died in 1723.
The present striking air was composed by JAMES HOOK, father of Theodore Hook. James
Hook was born in Norwich, England, in 1746. He received his first musical instruction
there, and threw himself into the profession with an enthusiastic devotion which won him
popularity. Besides sonatas, concertos, and other musical works, he is said to have composed
two thousand song melodies, of which his English ballads were remarkably successful. He
wrote many comic operas. He died in 1827.
1. Twas with - in
2. Jock-ie was
3. But when
a mile
a wag
he vow'd
of
that
he
Ed- in - bo - ro town, In the ro - sy time of the
nev-er wad wed, Though lang he had fol-low'd the
wad make her his bride, Though his flocks and herds were not
i
p
<t=t
^
WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBOHO'
411
r$-8 — j— TT"^"/41 — fl — ] — ^ — =5=1
=5=1=^- ^f
year, Sweet flow - ers bloom'd, And the
lass; Con - tented she earn'd and
few, She gie'd him her hand and a
_jH|
V V * ~^~
^
grass was down, And
ate her brown bread, And
kiss be - side, And
— 1 — — 1 — — 1 ^ —
9H f x i ± i
\
V^ *
fji)*tt I
= \- d J -J *
_J H J E
^1_>V: t 1 * • • J * 1
— ^j
1 — ^ —
-R J * . f
— F
^J — ^ — fc'b * *
each shepherd woo'd his dear,
mer - ri - ly turn'd up the grass,
vow'd she'd for - ev - er be true.
-0* 1
Bon- nie Jockie, blithe and gay,
Bon- nie Jockie, blithe and free,
Bon- nie Jockie, blithe and free.
l!\\
1
^^
^^
VTT J | J
j j
_] 1
CT |: ^ :£ J- *^
[*!
^
r*3 *^
: 4 J:* ^
f *
FH- J r -f— 1
-^ J?
_^
IJ * • =\
/L r _p • i*1 • r « y N
_r> N K \ K j N *
fm J • • L r W
m • m * NP N P«'J
! j
S5I2 * IX !^ I' , *
• • • J^ J P • •
V 5
3 ^ * v ••
Kiss'd young Jennie mak-ing hay ; The lassie blush'd, and frowning cried," Na, na, ft win-na do ; I
Won her heart right merri - ly; Yet still she blush'd, and frowning cried,-<Na,na, it win-na do; I
Won her heart right merri - ly; At kirk she no more frowning cried :"Na,na, it win-na do; I
— j — 1 — j — | p r i
1 a .
** * 5 3 •** ** * * *5 ** *
!- -J;-l-
ft^i§ 1 — — ^i _
1 S 1 X M 5
t J. -1 1
e — j *
-J J IJ
*T 1
£
i
can-na, can-na, winna, win-na, maunna buckle to."
3
*/
^
^
S
412
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
WIDOW MACHREE.
BOTH the words and the music of " Widow Machree " were written by SAMUEL LOTBR.
1. Wid-ow Ma-chree, 'tis no
2. Wid- ow Ma - chree, now the
3. Wid-ow Ma-chree, and when
won - der you frown,
sum - mer is come,
win - ter comes in,
Och
Och
Och
hone,
hone,
hone,
Ritard.
. Q tt f«c N r 1
n_ ^
XL J d N N
-^ — ^ — Is f* — f* — "^
~^r — J r — i
(fh * m Y *
f\ fv p J a
• J
532 * J S J
J • 9 •
* > i
Wid - ow Ma-chree I Faith it
Wid - ow Ma-chree ! When
Wid - ow Ma-chree ! To be
9 9
ru - ins your looks, that same
ev - 'ry-thing smiles, should a
pok- ing the flre all a -
-T^*— ^f^^\
dirt - y black gown,
beau - ty look glum?
lone is a sin,
FjPNpl
^> 2
| — ^ 1 J J **
ZaSstt \^ 2
m »
2 2
|E^ — •* — — i •? —
-«- -*-
-*- C i i
1 p — — p —
' V
^H: k
^ — h — ^ — N H J ^
4 — -^ '
m — P- — F-1 •£=« — ^ — ^ — ^ — '—=—c — \; — P — k — u — £ — hH
Och hone, Wid-ow Ma- chree I How al - ter'd your air, With that
Och hone, Wid-ow Ma-chree? Seethe birds go in pairs, And the
Och hone, Wid - ow Ma- chree I Why the shov - el and tongs To each
^=m7 f
-f 9 9 8 E
r f f f 1
— i — * * — ^ 1
-*-
p ? S ^»
— _i 1
-! _^_j ^ !i
/-~ — *• — J — -±- —
— f5s K h ,
P ,
\_
fV _^ ps __
@)— —9- 1 £ £ f. * £J 9 p * 9
^— — ^ ^ 1 e=. y
close cap you wear, Tis de - stroy - ing your hair That should
rab-bits and hares— Why ev - en the bears now In
oth - er be - longs, And the kit - tie sings songs Full of
Q-9 N
[fly- 0} £ — £ — ••*- 1 P ^ !S N,
-^ 0 . J J .
be flow-ing free, Be no
cou-ples a- gree,Andthe
fam - i - Iv glep,While a-
/•N
H51^5!— --*-* — A
fczf
i-
tg
^mtim
P ^^
N,
^ w
^ 1
-M-
WIDOW MACHKEE.
413
Crying
Rallen. ^ N N
& — K N r J r JN| J J $ r
•},
j
-^Jtj-j > i ||
m — J | / J J ^ P ^E
long-er a churl Of its black silk - en curl,
mute lit - tie fish, Tho' they can't spake, they wish,
lone with your cup, Like a her - mit you sup,
Och
Och
Och
=^f=
hone,
hone,
hone,
Widow Ma-chree 1
Widow Ma-chree!
Widow Ma-chree!
And how do you know, with the comforts I've towld,
Och hone ! Widow Machree,
But you're keeping some poor fellow out in the
cowld,
Och hone ! Widow Machree !
With such sins on your head,
Sure your peace would be fled,
Could you sleep in your bed
Without thinking to see
Some ghost or some sprite,
That would wake you each night,
Crying, " Och hone ! Widow Machree."
Then take my advice, darling widow Machree,
Och hone ! Widow Machree.
And with my advice, faith I wish you'd take
me,
Och hone ! Widow Machree.
You'd have me to desire
Then to stir up the fire,
And sure Hope is no liar
In whispering to me,
That the ghosts would depart,
When you'd me near your heart,
Och hone ! Widow Machree.
DUNCAN GRAY.
THEKE was an old song, of which BURNS has retained only the name and the chorus
in his " Duncan Gray." He writes to Thomson, " the air is of that light-horse gallop that
precludes sentiment. The ludicrous is its ruling feature." And Thomson replies, " Duncan
is a lad of grace, and his humor will endear him to everybody." Hon. A. Erskine, writing
to the poet, says: "Duncan Gray possesses native, genuine humor. ' Spak o' loupin' o'er
a linn/ is a line that of itself should make you immortal.*'
j All**.
F^
i T-^ — ;— |
—» 1 ' e — VJ
S=6= =*=,
9. — —
' ir~
_^ i_^_|
1. Dun - can Gray cam' here to woo, Ha,
2. Dun - can fleech'd, an' Dun - can pray'd, Ha,
3. Time and chance are but a tide, Ha,
ha, the woo - in' o't;
ha, the woo - in' o't ;
ha, the woo - in' o't ;
On
,bfc&S -5_
i — - —
_^ — :
* A
pteg 4=H
• ^ j
— i
i ^ ^
-J i
—
— j
i
•
=3 — • — %
r-& -1
1 &
•*•
JM
2__U_L(_ J * — ^ — *
... _. j
3
4 1
414
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
£«r - —
._ ^ 0 '
1— ' »-• J -1"
pi .___ 4 J *_
blythe Yule night, when
Meg was deaf as
Slight - ed love is
we were fu',
Ail - -a Craig,
sair to bide,
_ J j ^
Ha, ha, the
Ha, ha, the
Ha, ha, the
1
woo - in' o't ;
woo - in' o't ;
woo - in' o't ;
j *
1 , -J ,-i
; — <*< & ]
. J i
* *
^iif^ i 1 — J~
5f ^ f
1 7S>
_ A
-^ o J * *•
A i
s *
9 *
ft
3*3
•»• V
IP
1r
Mag - gie coost her head fu' heigh, Look'd a-sklent, and un - co skeigh,
Dun - can sigh'd baith out an' in, Grat his een baith blear'd an' blin',
"Shall I, like a fool," quo' he, "For a haugh-ty hiz - zie dee?
aft! , J , i
rJ , J ,
r_4 ,N _, ±L
£*f~z — J 5 i —
=* — i — * — i~
-*-! * f J—
— i — j — , — ^ —
fc fi ^ * j A
• j '
|yf=H— i — i 1 1 — i
I-*— — — 0 —
\ \
T w *
* a 5
1 — h- i-
— 0 m
**
1-r • — n — 1
bCT ' - r— - IV- -J^~ 1
: ,
i II
v>p | ~ ! 1 — f
Gart poor Dun - can stand a - beigh,
Spak' o loup - in' o'er a linn,
She may gae to— France— for me I"
-* f £
Ha, ha, the
Ha, ha, the
Ha, ba, the
L_IJ z_^:- -••-_]
woo - in' o't.
woo - in' o't.
woo - in' o't.
ft "*" "I
•*• *
p,U
*•*•-••
— r *— H
^--8 — P- L- 1 ^ | =q
^. Ml
How it comes let doctors tell,
Ha, ha, the wooin' o't ;
Meg grew sick as he grew hale,
Ha, ha, the wooin' o't.
Something in her bosom wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings ;
And, oh ! her een, they spak' sic things,
Ha, ha, the wooin' o't.
s-
Duncan was a lad o' grace,
Ha, ha, the wooin' o't;
Maggie's was a piteous case,
Ha, ha, the wooin' o't.
Duncan couldna be her death,
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ;
Now they're crouse and canty baitb, —
Ha, ha, the wooin' o't.
RORY O'MOEE.
RORY O'MORE
415
THE name of " Eory O'More " has long suggested all that was impudently coaxing and
bewitchingly tormenting iu rural courtship ; but more than two centuries ago it was
worn by a champion of the Irish people, and it signified to them everything that was
lofty and unselfish in a patriot. It was the country's proverb that the hope of Ireland was
"in God, the Virgin, and Eory O'More."
The words and music of this song are by SAMUEL LOYER, who says': "From an early
period I had felt that Irish comic songs (so called) were but too generally coarse and
vulgar, devoid of that mixture of fun and feeling so strongly blended in the Irish charac-
ter— that a pig and a poker, expletive oaths, 'hurroos,' and <whack-fol-de-rols,' made the
staple of most Irish comic songs ; and having expressed this opinion in a company where
the subject was discussed, I was met with that taunting question which sometimes sup-
plies the place of argument, 'Could you do better?' I said I would try; and 'Eory
O'More' was the answer. Its popularity was immediate and extensive ; so much so that on
the occasion of her Majesty, Queen Victoria's coronation, every band along the line of pro-
cession to Westminster Abbey, played ' Eory O'More' during some part of the day, and,
finally, it was the air the band of the Life Guards played as they escorted her Majesty into
the park, on her return to Buckingham Palace. Being called upon to write a novel, I
availed myself of the popularity attaching to the name, and entitled my story 'Eory
O'More.' The success of the novel induced the management of the Adelphi Theatre to
apply to me to dramatize the story, and in this, its third form, ' Eory O'More' was again
received by the public with such approbation, that it was played one hundred and eight
nights in the first season, in London, and afterward universally throughout the kingdom."
Lively.
@
^
1. Young Ro-ry O' More court-ed Kath - a - leen bawn, He was bold as a hawk, and she
2. " In - deed, then," says Kathleen, " don't think of the like, For I half gave a prom-ise to
3. "Arrah, Kath-leen, my dar- lint, you've teas'd me enough, And I've thrash'd for your sake Din-ny
^^
ipyrr^4s=M=?=
soft as the dawn; He wish'd in his heart pret-ty Kath-leen to please, And he
sooth-er-ing Mike; The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound." "Faith," says
Grimes and Jim Duff; And I've made my- self drink- ing year health quite a baste, So, I
#
i
0^ i
|" j
i r~j — i
&
'
R
h-
1
J
-
^=£=H
— r—
.
s
If-
L,
•
—
«
«
jj . d
^
416
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
ss — V~JU7 — r — T — f~~f — Jr~F — T^ — T~
-* 0 2 9 N ^ 1
^ thought the best way to do that was to teaze ; " Now, Ro - ry, be ais - y," sweet
Ro-ry, "I'd rath-er love you than the ground." " Now, Ro - ry, I'll cry, if you
think, aft - cr that, I may talk to the priest;"* Then Ro - ry, the rogue, stole his
f-'- - *— '— -, j 1 £ 1 — t-
ff7T$ — '—f • • « M sf T
=J — J — — J — |=d
— ir— ; —
^4- r- Ua J. a ^
= r
^ a^ //A
V j — f^-* 0
km^— « — • — J f ^ — f* — — h — 1^ J* f / • \ * — h — F — r^ i/ — u—
yi- _J j-^-L -J J 0 0 -^—v-
Kathleen would cry, Re - proof on her lip — but a smile in her eye, " With your
don't let me go, Sure I dhrame ev' - ry night that I'm hat - ing you so I" "Oh !" says
arm 'round her neck, So soft and so white, without free - kle or speck, And he
$\b v\t i J" j J i *i ^^n i ~\
* 0 0 cJ 1 '
^S? ^ — — ^f — ^* — ^_ -j ~d d £ ^ 4
| J !^j
m
ftf//« 7/«?f<?.
/7N
[<•}.. b — — = — • 2 1
M tf *1
^"T?~ JT — * ^^~^^^~^ 1 1 1 1
J
jf~ I v ^ A IS N i^ \
w K
/Lb h pp ^v^^^.
PL N h ^
rCF)p P l^ ^ h f * * * — • — it — J J J
—fX PS P H— — J
tricks I don't know, in troth, what I'm a - bout, Faith you've teas'd till I've put on my
Ro - ry, " that game I'm de - light - ed to hear, For dhrames al- ways go by con-
look'd in her eyes that were beam-ing with light, And he kiss'd her sweet lips — don't you
tJ
j j ;=*=
u r r * r r i
£s&yess
[ffij? s ^ / I — -r
_^
jyy
cloak in -side out." "Ohl" jew - el," says Ro - ry, " that same is the way, You've
thrair-ies, my dear; Ohl jew- el, keep dream - ing that same till you die, And bright
think he is right? " Now, Ro - ry, leave off, sir, — you'll hug me no more, That's
tJ 1 colla voce. "5- •»• -*• •»• •
f^\,-c 0 f /•— * ! [— | ,_
^— , J -^— q
^Li/— ; ' ; ' ' F — — LS- i L
^r- J.
JKORY O' MORE.
^TF-F — F— F — h— r-r-
!\ ~N N—
~^ — P — = — K — IT
— ^ ]
8z -?—£—•— J— j^-^-V— -^— J— '-J — F
thrat-ed my heart for this ma - ny a day, And 'tis plaz'd that I
morning will give dirt - y night the black lie, And 'tis plaz'd that I
eight times to - day that you've kiss'd me be - fore;" "Then here goes an
am, and why
am, and why
- oth - er," says
<TT fr "* — ^— J — * — J-
\ ^ A A . Sf _2f
1 y -i- -r ffi_ :£
/57TT 1 1
"1 > J
1— * — » — J — t-
— ,-1 — ; —
i*
CJl V * 1 J
Wh U 1 ' « •
- !>'-. ~VJ . ^ =4-
f ~j
rS~^ —
L
nr*
Sf. — f — fn
h^-^J
N ^ ^ f \ i* „
— : — rn
(n
tJ
-ft-
-7 — r p — "pr
not, to be
not, to be
he, " to make
^- ^— -i * « = ^ u >~ ~* f — f — ^— H
sure? For 'tis all for good luck," says bold Ro - ry O'More.
sure? Since 'tis all for good luck," says bold Ro - ry O'More.
sure, For there's luck in odd nuni - bers," says Ro - ry O'More.
— N sr- a n J ^ ^ 1 I 1 1
J
i
H
•
/^
pf Si «S
: 2=3
1
r • • i .^3
-_j j_ it
: if V
-•— 4~H
r • ' JL. 3
H
THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN.
THE words of this song are by LADY NAIKNE,— all but the last two stanzas, which
were written by Miss FERRIER, a Scottish authoress, best known by her novel of
"Marriage."
The air is very old, and was once called " When she cam' ben, she bobbit." Still
earlier it was entitled " Cockpen." The Laird of Cockpen was a companion-in-arms and
attached friend of Charles II. He fought with him at Worcester, and formed one of the
merry monarch's little court at the Hague. The Laird was famous for musical skill, and
an air called " Brose and Butter," was an especial favorite with the exiled King. At the
Kestoration, the Laird's appeal for the return of property he had lost in following the royal
standard, was completely ignored. He was not even given an audience. Cockpen then
obtained leave to play for a service which Charles attended. All went well until the clos-
ing anthem, when the ears of the retiring worshippers were saluted with the lively tune of
"Brose and Butter." The King hastened to the organ-gallery, and declared that Cockpen
had "almost made him dance." "I could dance, too, if I had my lands again," said the
player. The request was granted, and the old air went only by his name.
(27)
418
OUK FAMILIAR SONQS.
All
egro.
— if to — s '
f\ 1 V
. 'k. ^ — s. f ' ff r
— f~- ^= — 1
MfflT" nn i ' Jv • J •' * » w" i ji — p p i — j .. l J '. jij'fEuiLfprr -• u i
vy tt i> i j- F * p t, —j—j—j — p c ' *j/ •* — v u j — ^—
1. The Laird o' Cockpen he's proud an' he's great, His mind is ta'enupwi'the things o' the state ; He
2. Doun bv the dyke-side a la-dy did dwell, Athis ta - ble- head he Ihocht she'd look well: M'-
3. His wig was weel-pouther'd, as gude as when new, His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue ; He
.,£ L) - 1 "1 -1 ««, I «, «1 <H>«
fen — x
r^
^
•
^-^
T^^
4
= — ^i
fc^-fr *|
-^ =j-f
H
— ^ ^ — ^
H* =M* =»-
— '
*1 —
«j
o
-i E
-F f
-\
— •
— «
^^-« — « N — — j-J
— H — •+- N — I _B—
— &-^t K r-fl
£y — 5 — ^ — ?~
e—
-T* * ^ j /3—
f P r — r - ^ *
— J\ — N N \— H
• J . J
V V ' V ' ¥ ¥ www
want-ed a wife his braw house to keep, But fa-vourwi' woo- in' was fashious to seek.
Cleish's aedochtera' Clav-ers'-ha' Lee, A pen -ni -less lass wi' a lang pod - i - gree.
put on a ring, a sword, and cock'd hat ; And wha could re - fuse the Laird wi' a' that?
i ill — n
i — 4~
-d -1 J "
— jjj =1 — jj s:^
~7i =1 — ^"H
\J 4-
j f ^ ^ .. — ...
J 1
-I sp-
L-f i '
-*•
rd . J . i
— J s — ii-H
(£.£•*_ SJ
J - -
— 4 =1 0_ =1
J ^ J ^=
— ^ = r-H
He mounted his mare, and rade cannilie:
An' rapped at the yett o' Clavers'-ha' Lee.
" Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben :
She's wanted to speak wi' the Laird o' Cockpen."
Mistress Jean she was makin' the elder-flower
wine —
" What brings the Laird here at sic a like time ?"
She put aff her apron, an* on k«r silk goun,
Her mutch wi' red ribbons, an' gaed awa' doun. •
An' when she came ben, he bowed fu' low ;
An' what was his errand he soon let her know.
Amazed was the Laird when the lady said —
« Na."
An' wi' a laigh curtsie she turned awa'.
Dumbfoundered was he — but nae sigh did he gie';
He mounted his mare, and rade cannilie ;
An' aften he thocht, as he gaed through the glen,
" She's daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen."
And now that the Laird his exit had made,
Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said;
"Oh! for ane I'll get better, it's waur I'll get
ten —
I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen."
Neist time that the Laird and his lady were seen,
They were gaun arm in arm to the kirk on the
green;
Now she sits in the ha' like a weel-tapit hen,
But as yet there's nae chickens appear'd at Cockpen
KATE KEARNEY,
ROBERT OWENSON, whom his daughter calls " as fine a type of an Irish gentleman as
Ireland ever sent forth," was an actor, and manager of a theatre in Dublin, in the latter
half of the last century. He played in England, and won the daughter of a wealthy Eng-
lish gentleman, whose parents never forgave the marriage. The early days of SIDXE y , daugh-
ter of the youthful pair, were spent in scenes of dire poverty ; but as soon as she was able, the
spirited girl began to plan means for bettering her situation. She became a governess,
and soon an authoress. Her story of " The Wild Irish Girl" was immediately and im-
mensely popular, and brought her money and reputation. DR. CHARLES MORGAN, an
.Englishman, who is described as "a tall, handsome student — a man of great erudition,
K A TE KEARNEY.
419
speculative power, and singular observation," fell in love with the gay, brave, bright girl,
and married her. Dr. Morgan was knighted, and his ready-witted wife became a volumin-
ous writer, and an entertainer of the literary and fashionable. They traveled on the con-
tinent, and then settled in London. Lady Morgan survived her husband for sixteen years,
and while life lasted was a lively, interesting, indispensable woman of society;— eccentric,
but full of charity and pleasant acts. She says :
" I know I am vain ; but I have a right to be so. Look at the number of books I
have written (more than seventy volumes). Did ever woman move in a brighter sphere
than I do? My dear, I have three invitations to dinner to-day; one from a Duchess,
another from a Countess, a third from a Diplomatist — I will not tell you who — a very naughty
man, who, of course, keeps the best society in London. Now, what right have I, my
father's daughter, to this? What am I? A pensioned scribbler! Yet I am given gifts
that queens might covet. Look at that little clock; that stood in Marie Antoinette's
dressing-room. Princes and princesses, and celebrities of all kinds, have presented me
with the souvenirs you see around me, and they would make a wiser woman vain."
She used to say that she was bora in "ancient ould Dublin," upon a Christmas day;
but she always forgot to add the year. The best authorities say it was in 1777, and the
cyclopaedias say : " It is usually stated that she was bom in 1786, but as she refuses to tell
the date of her birth, 'because dates are so cold, false, and erroneous,' the reader of her
autobiography will do well to add about ten years to her age." A literary friend said to
her : " Lady Morgan, I bought one of your books to-day. May I tell you the date ?" "Do,"
she answered, "but say it in a whisper." "Eighteen hundred and three !" She lifted her
hand and looked unutterable things. Lady Morgan died, April 16, 1859.
Her song is set to an old Irish melody.
Andante con espress.
ffc Ik
^ ^ ^5
s s
i ^-3 -g
\-s r- «• j -
~7 3
ffl-ff 8 7~ 0-^-0 -P— r-
1. Oh! did you not
2. For that eye is so
9 * | m t I A
hear of Kate Kear-ney?
mo - dest - ly beam - ing,
r* * i
• •
She
You
E
* -4
-1 .N
3 -4 •
—1 ^
• *i ' i *
*^ •*• *^ •*•
i ,n_
£4L«j_,
-1 : * —
* 3=
— * — — » —
— * — — *-
—9 ^
-44— a-Jf S s — -*^* K- s/~K —
^" tt — ? * — "^^ ^ * ^
-^ 0 — ? * »N /
— ^— ? i " T— f
— 1>- - & i^ i>
y- — v — — t — — — -"-v — w ^ L — — '
lives on the banks of Kil - lar -ney; From the glance of her eye, slum
ne'er think of mis - chief she's dream-ing ; Yet, Oh I I can tell how
s ** ^^ ^
t — r-f-^
• i i/
*" •*" ^
\ _ '«- 9 9 '
-r >^— ' i
420
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
dan - gcr, and fly, For
fa - tal the spell That
* -4
fa - tal's the glance of Kate Kear - ney.
lurks in the ' eye of Kate Kear - ney.
Oh ! should you e'er meet this Kate Kearney,
Who lives on the banks of Killarney,
Beware of her smile, for many a wile
Lies hid in the smile of Kate Kearney.
Tho' she looks so bewitchingly simple,
Yet there's mischief in every dimple ;
And who dares inhale, the sigh's spicy gale,
Must die by the breath of Kate Kearney.
O WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU MY LAD.
THE words of this song are by EGBERT BURNS, but there is doubt as to the origin of
the air, which was a great favorite with him. Ireland claims it, and has long known it
under the title of "Noble Sir Arthur;" but one JOHN BRUCE, a Scottish fiddler, claimed it
stoutly, and Burns said of him, "This I know, Bruce, who was an honest man, though \\
red-wud Highlander, constantly claimed it; and by all the old musical people in Dumfries
he is believed to be the author of it." Burns wrote two sets of words for it.
Allegro.
"^
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad, O whis-tle, and I'll come to you my lad! Tho'
»i — ii •" I i ~~ — —
-i — .•* i i -•*'- — i r*^
* I ! -rrH- i— r~ — i— *—•
•*• *^ Tt- •*• -* •»
fa - ther and mother and a' should gae mad, O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.
1 . But wa - ri - ly tent when ye come to court me, And come na un-less the back yett be a -
2. At kirk or at mar - ket,whene'er ye meet me. Gang by me as tho' that ye cared na a
3. Aye vow and pro - test that ye care na for me, And whyles ye may lichtly my beau-ty a
jee; Syne
flie. But
wee; But
0 WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU MY LAD.
up the back style and let nae - bo - dy see, And come as ye were na corn-in' to me. o"
steal me a blink o' your bon -nie black e'e, Yet look as ye were na look-in' at me. O
court na an - ith - er, tho' jok - in' ye be, For fear that she'll wyle your fan-cy frae me. O
wbis-tle, and I'll come to you, my lad, 0 whis-tle, and I'll come to you my lad! Tho'
^=3*^==]
-|— * -j I * -H
9S:
»_ U-! * i » 1 «— 3
2 — k«- 2 « Z » 1 — M
fa - ther and mother and a' should gae mad, O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.
ROY'S WIFE OF ALDIVALLOCH.
MRS. GKANT, author of this famous song, was born in Ireland, of Scottish parents. She
married her cousin, Mr. Grant, of Carron, on the river Spey, and the name of her home was
added to her own, to distinguish her from another Mrs. Grant, also Scotch, and a song-
writer. She afterwards married Dr. Murray, of Bath, England, where she died about the
year 1814.
Several rhymers, and even Burns, wrote rhymes for this air ; but none have supplanted
those of Mrs. Grant. I restore two stanzas which add to the originality of the conception
and the sentiment of the song.
The air was composed by NEIL Gow, the famous Scottish piper and musician. It waa
called " The Ruffian's Rant," but since the publication of these words, it has been known
only as " Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch."
422
OUR FA MIL I All SONUS.
Roy's wife of Al - di - val - loch, Roy's wife of Al - di - val - loch,
P - SJ
- -
1
1
(She
"Wat ye how she cheat - ed me, As I came o'er the braes o' Bal-loch?-j O,
(Her
vow'd, she swore she wad be mine, She said she lo'ed me best of o - ny; But,
she.... was a can - ty quean, "Weel could she dance the High -land walloch; How-
hair sae fair, her een sae clear, Her wee bit mou' sae sweet and bonnie ; To
^g
^3^=i^f
oh! the fie - kle, faith - less quean, She's ta'en the Carle, and left her Johnnie.
hap - py I, had she been mine, Or I'd been Roy of Al - di - val-loch.
me she ev - er will be dear, Tho' she's for - ev - er left her Johnnie.
ROY'S WIFE OF ALDIVALLOCII.
423
Roy's wife of Al - di - val - loch, Roy's wife of Al - di - val - loch,
^EaE^Ejj
.0— ^ 0 —
Wat ye how she cheat - ed me, As I came o'er the braes o' Bal-loch?
LOVELY MARY DONNELLY.
WILLIAM ALLINGHAM, who wrote the words of this song, was born in Ballyshannon,
Ireland, in 1828. His father was a banker in that town, and the son received a good
education and became a poet of acknowledged ability. In his "English Note-Books,"
under date of February 23, 1854, Hawthorne says : " There came to see me the other day,
a young gentleman, with a mustache and a blue cloak, who announced himself as William
Allingham, and handed me a copy of his poems, a thin volume, with paper covers, pub-
lished by Eoutledge. I thought I remembered hearing his name, but had never seen any
of his works. His face was intelligent, dark, pleasing, and not at all John-Bullish. He
said that he had been employed in the Customs in Ireland, and was now going to London
to live by literature,— to be connected with some newspaper, I imagine. He had been in
London before, and was acquainted with some of the principal literary people,— among
others, Tennyson and Carlyle. He seemed to have been on rather intimate terms with
Tennyson. ... We talked awhile in my dingy and dusky Consulate, and he then took
leave. His manners are good, and he appears to possess independence of mind." Alling-
ham has done much and varied literary work, including several volumes of poems, and
since 1874 has been the editor of Fr user's Magazine.
The music of this song was written by THEODORE T. BARKER.
1. 0 love - ly
2. The dance of
3. Oh, you're the
Ma - rv Don - nel - ly, it's you I
last Whitman - day-night ex - ceed - ed
flow'r o' wo - man - kind, in coun-try
love
all
or
the best!
>re,
No
The
424
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
at h *" "
-r^*~^ • -• * • N F «
* ^«-
flf - ty girls were round you, I'd hard - ly see the rest,
pret - ty girl for miles a - round was mis - sing from the floor ;
high- er I ex - alt.... you, the low - er I'm cast down,
7 r^*
Be
But
If
g:
*=* 3 i 5
_J_ _,_ ! jfc |_i _^
•*•-*• 4 ^ A.
•wr
— i=: -
*
canto.
^f B
—g, * — g =—
— «T~ —
,Z — *j_! . 2
W ~ J 7 • •
\ 0. \ „' .
2
s. * §
N-i 1 1^** — i
.« • — — - — F5-4- — u-'-
F»* — ^1* — * —
V > -L-TT- — ^ -^^s^"—
what it may, the time of day, the place be where it will, Sweet
Ma - ry kept the belt of love, and Oh! but she was gay! She
some great lord should come this way, and see your beau - ty bright, And
looks of Ma - ry Don - nel -.ly,
danced a jig, she sang a song.
they bloom be - fore me still. Her
that took my heart a - way. When
you
to
be
his la
dy,
I'd own
was but right.
O!
uL ~* "** ' "*' ~*~\
s *
C -^ -N * : S —- ^B
eyes like moun -tain wa - ter that's flow - ing on a rock, TIow
she stood up for danc - ing, her steps were so com - plete, The
might we live to - geth - er in lof - ty pal - ace hall, Where
cres. un poco.
J* *f *
«
i . ' j \ ' - - -1
= t~ i ^ tt r"
_•__ } L-- 1
s * ' • 3
-*- EMI-
LOVELY MARY DONNELLY.
clear they are, how dark they are! and they give me many a shock. Red
mu -sic near- ly kill'd it - self to lis -ten to her feet; The
joy - f ul mu - sic ris - es and where scar - let cur - tains fall ! O !
Izb ~* ~*
s s—
N "^
s s
— 1< f2 j^— rt-
» w f'
\J * * * • 3 0 9 0
row - ans warm in sun - shine, and
fid - dler moaned his blind - ness, he
might we live to - geth - er, in a
|— j . j " H* ^_j_ _4p_|
wet - ted with a shower, Could
heard her so much praised, But
cot - tage mean and small, With
fm *f ~* • 7 ' -^ "
•9 — IN 9
S
7 I | 1 .
*l """
H
+j
3-
W^ *
3
«- '
TT
r\*
\
— J B "
Z «l
— d 1
— | ~x —
-*—
tvz//.
J/_ ^_£. * :
^ W g— ^ f_ H ;»?! ^j-
— ^ La
— i i I - 5^ * _i
B*
ne'er ex - press the (
bless - ed him - self
sods of grass the
-harm- ing lip, that has me in its
he wasn't deaf, when once her voice she i
on - ly roof, and mud the on - ly
>ow'r. O
•ais'd. O
wall. O
Up? j— j n
PT "] — "™ 1 7 - j~7 -f * - j :
. |
& 1 i i
rail.
— 1 1
-J— J ,
^' ¥-. 9
% 9 ft ~=i-
1 1
_q : — brf J
™^ 0 1 1
a tempo.
~j[ — ^ ^> !* ^~
—»—. ^
h £ : — !s ^_
— ^ ^~
love - ly Ma - ry
love - ly Ma - ry
love - ly Ma - ry
Don - nel - ly, it's
Don - nel - ly, it's
Don - nel - Jy, your
you I love the
you I love the
beau - ty's my dis
. « ...+ . j .-jH
1 ' i •
best! If
best! If
- tress, It's
a tempo.
t* *t «T
, * * *
r-1 — a — i — r-
* *
— i _j .+— - 1 —
9 y 9
cot.
jl |
^
•* '
:-3 J— =^
1
426
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
N »s
fif • ty girls were round you, I'd hard - ly see
far too beau - teous to be mine, but I'll nev - er wish
the rest.
it less.
Be
The
what it may, the time of day, the place be where it will, Sweet
proud - est place would fit your face, and I am poor and low, But
a tempo.
ad lib.
-?-
— ^ —
—9=2
looks of Ma - ry Don - nel - ly, they bloom be - fore me still,
bless - ings be a - bout you, dear, wher - ev - er you may go I
=S=$S=-$j^^
a tempo.
^1
COME, HASTE TO THE WEDDING.
THE music of this old English song is said to have been composed by DR. THOMAS
ARNE.
1. Come, haste to the wedding, ye friends and ye neighbors, The lov -ers their bliss can no
2. Let en- vy, let pride, let hate and am -bi - tion, Still crowd to and beat at the
3. With rea-son we taste of each heart-stirr-ing pleasure, With rea- son we drink of the
COME, HASTE TO THE WEDDING.
427
m
long - er de - lay,
breast of the great,
full-flow-ing bowl;
For - get all your sor-rows,your cares, and your la-bors, And
To such wretched passions we give no ad - mis-sion, But
Are jo- cund and gay, but all with - in meas-ure, For
—
£
let ev' - ry heart beat with rapt-ure to - day.
leave them a - lone to the wise ones of state.
fa - tal ex - cess will en - slave the free soul.
Ye vo - ta- ries all, at-
We boast of no wealth, But con-
Come, come at our bid-ding, To
S
*EEH^r ^_\_^-rrr-t^.
tend to my call, Come, rev - el in pleas-ures that nev - er can cloy.
tent-ment and health, In mirth and in friend-ship our moments em- ploy. Come, see
this hap - py wedding, No care shall in- trude here our bliss to an - noy.
^^
ru - ral . fe - lie - i - ty, Which love and in - no-cence ev - er en - joy.
428 OUR FAMILIAR SOXGS.
WEEL MAY THE KEEL ROW.
THE Americanized chorus of this pretty little song —
Light may the boat row, the boat row, the boat row,
Light may the boat row that my lad'H in —
is exceedingly familiar, and the movement of the air is a popular favorite. The first stanza
of the original song reads :
As I came thro' Laudgate, thro' Laudgate, thro' Laudgate,
As I came thro' Laudgate,
I heard a lassie sing, O, well, etc.
The tune is altered slightly from an old melody called " Smiling Polly."
Jrh ^ — ~^ — !* ^~ ~~J — ~^ ^ J" ~j* — P" ^~
g)P 4 js--^ — -J * y ' ' J . -f-
1. Oh, who is like my John - nie, Sae leish, sae blithe, sae
2. He has nae mair o' learn - ing Than tells his week - ly
3. He wears a blue bon - net, Blue bon - net, blue
n i i i
-*UJ N--N-]
-*- -•-
bon - nie! He's
earn - ing; Yet
bon - net, He
, Jl, 9
1
A. b -^ 1 _i mm J _i
fih A 1 * mm f • f
J1 J
IMJ 4- I p 1 * *l
1
t) -4- -4- -4- •*- -4- 1-
TJ 2 J J ~i
-8-
i — h- 1 1
~d d
^b A
» «
** J J _i J
i
* * -0- -0- * *
l") K. N X 1 IS 1C h
p r
dkb J 2 3! ^ * f * J . J y -fr- - — ^ J—
J . • * L —
— —.^^r H ^ •
fore- most 'mang the mo - ny Keel lads o' coal - y Tyne. He'll
right frae wrang dis - cern - ing, Tho' brave, naebruis-e'r he. Tho'
wears a blue bon - net, A dim -pie's in his chin; And
(/Si h v§
set or row so
he no worth a
weel may the
W m —t 1 * -4 ^ J ^~
J -3- —2 *~2 i 4J. ^r- -hit-
JH4- .' ^^ ,j J |^
~* *~^
/?tt^ r i* « fci — ^ — ~^ — — * — * —
-9— — J—
-f— —m—
t) ^ 4 _Ji_ V V
tight - Iv, Or in the dance sae spright-ly, He'll cut and shuf - fle
plack is, His ain coat on his back is; And nane can sav that
keel row, The keel row, the keel row, And weel mav the
ip=*~\ — 17 — t- H =n — r —
j- r -g^
siijht - Iv, 'Tis
black is The
keel row That
, 1 1 3
— ^ i —
r| i I
rf f 1
'M' r — F — '-J — J — y — d^-'-i- -J-
WEEL MAY THE KEEL ROW.
429
A— f — K — S3
-1 a
Ml i
v— ^=F
-i H,— ^
fnV 1
ISTJ
~ tri
wl
rr
.;_/ '
ie, were he
lite o' Jol
~~ —
not mine. |
in - nie's e'e. >
ad's in. j
J * * J
Weel may the keel row, The keel row, the
• — i 1 1 1 1 i — i 1 1
(XL U
ij
i M.
j J
fctf- *
•
1
-^ —1
— 1 ^
E \ J
u 1^-
*^
3 -«-
i i
-i-i — ^
I
L
2 5r
i
[ ^s «
0
=1 ^~
— J •
• f
— i
— =1 —
_, 1
1 — — -
•£
1 I
I
•
• m
•4-
ry ^^
w m
^^
v_ ^
3E
K 1
^=r^
l i II
zcfc
\ p\
P
J^ 1
1 II
Cor « — j — j—
1
H: *-
H SP
* *
j j . n
-\ — fc ±\
keel row, Weel
may the keel row
1 N> »• '•s_<
That my lad's
in.
i
i II
/ b
>
J «
U V •
tf
•
S f
j
J 1
^} 9.
1
1
i
• . II
l) *
=^S
L
-*- -*
1 1
r-4-
^ .
F^Tr
— •
0
—m— Hat
—*T
— -j —
*~*\? *
•
— 1 1—
1—
•
HI
• -*-
J
' -«l ^^
J
— i —
WAIT FOR THE WAGON.
THE two fortunate things in this renowned but familiar bit of jargon, are the melody
and the name of Phillis. Phillis suggests all that is sweet-scented in wayside blooming,
and the wagon bumps along through the music like a hay-cart over a corduroy road.
The music was composed by E. BISHOP BUCKLEY, who was born in England about 1810.
He came to the United States, and organized Buckley's Minstrels in 1843, of which he was
the most attractive feature. He died in Quincy, Mass., in 1867.
~N ~N' ~2
--*— ^~
Will you come with me, my
Where the riv - er runs like
Phil-lis dear, To yon blue mountain free,
nil - ver, And the birds they sing so sweet.
you be-lieve, my Phil-lis dear, Old Mike, with all his wealth,
/
Where the
I
Can
fek "^ ~^
^ •T
^ "i J J
d r-z^~
bios - soms
have a
make you
:— $ -td
smell the
cab - bin,
half so
, ' "T
•* i J
— _p '
sweet - est,
Phil - lis,
hap - py,
5 r^^
* * ' «!
Come rove a - long with me. It's
And some - thing good to eat. Come
As I with youth and health? We'll
R^T— • ^ - <s 1 J i
P- -3—
! *
3 — ^pi-
— ^^— ^
:i^_ _A.
J_ > .
-^ •*• .
> ^
* * * « j
__l j .
^^
^ a
W* F-
^ E
L_i_ ^_
7
430
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
fek — ^
F 1
— I* ~
N, s — — N-
= -^ 3
ev - 'r
lis - te
have a
p i.
fer — «r-
— Is in—
y Sun - day
n to my
lit - tie
. 9 \ 9
morning, When
ato - ry, It
farm, A
9 't
I ai
will r
horse, t
— ?
a by your
e - lieve my
i pig, and
*— ! ""*]
side, We'll
heart, So
cow, And
»/ — *
— *~
Fr1 =F 1
4
— # •
: 9 * _
ft
2!^ — f—
.._ -i
-p E
N==-
I
— *
\
1
r
OJ-Jl P -f
__*, _h_ •;—. — j j_
| i—
f* f*
~f ~r
jump in - to the
jump in - to the
you will mind the
* 0 \ * *
wag - on, And all take a
wag - on, And off we will
dai - ry, While I will guide the p
ride,
start,
lough.
faf ? 1""""1"" *~~
_^_ — — ("*"** •' 1 7 ^ 9 ^— |
-•—
-^ ••
*y * __^
*___ _^ ^. *^
-5 l
i» .
r >s *
. ^ — ^
— 9- — P — — * —
— f — — - —
^—
/t^
1* — ^
^ i J
— » : »-r «—
=2= -r
^r\3 —
K S —
— ^ —
— ~ n 1^ —
f B 1
J
Wait for the
wag - on,
Wait for the
i i 1 1
wag - on.
i S ^ 1
jL£f~\
t~
•f J f
~ s f i—
K&— i
4^ — * J
7 2 *
— 9 9
7 9 * J
U J 1 1
* »
i 5 1
L_« J 1
1 0 1
|
^T~}>~
4j r 1
— r * —
j
-X" K
=£= =t
=^-
0 j
~r
-f.
fo
2_ J
-* IS |H
,s
v —
.11
fa
Wait f
* . V"
or the
wag - on, And we'll
9
al
* *
1 take a
ride.
— 5
1—
— j— "* _
* ^ 2
«_.
Eg 3
£
,
-4 1
-i
S S
ij_J^
— H5 1
FL— -1
_j, 1
=
__j !
— t
CHORUS.
WAIT FOB THE WAGON.
-0---0-
431
Wait for the wagon, wait for the wagon, Wait for the wagon, and we'll all take a ride.
Wait for the wagon, wait for the wagon, Wait for the wagon, and we' 11 all take a ride.
Your lips are red as poppies, your hair so slick
and neat,
All braided up with dahlias, and hollyhocks so
sweet ;
It's every Sunday morning, when I am by your
side,
We'll jump into the wagon, and all take a ride.
Wait for the wagon, etc.
Together on life's journey, we'll travel till we
stop,
And if we have no trouble, we'll reach the happy
top;
Then, come with me, sweet Phillis, my dear, my
lovely bride,
We'll jump into the wagon, and all take a ride.
Wait for the wagon, etc.
THE GROVES OF BLARNEY.
THE author of this ridiculous song, with its significant title, EICHARD ALFRED MILLIKIN,
an Irish poet and lawyer, was born in the county Cork, in 1757, and died in 1815. The
"Groves of Blarney," except the fifth stanza, was written about 1798 or 1799, and
is a most singular blending of fancy and fact. Castle Blarney was fortified in 1689, and
really passed into the hands of the Jeffery family, and it was also besieged, but not by
Cromwell, the Irish scapegoat. Lord Broghill captured the castle in 1646, and a published
letter of his exists, dated " Blairney, August 1st." In the memoir attached to the poems
of MiUikin, is the following account of the origin of "The Groves of Blarney."
" An itinerant poet, with a view of being paid for his trouble, composed a song (in
praise as he doubtless intended it) of Castle Hyde, the beautiful seat of the Hyde family,
on the River Blackwater; but instead of the expected remuneration, the poor poet was
driven from the gate by order of the then proprietor, who, from the absurdity of the thing,
conceived that it could be only meant as mockery ; and, in fact, a more nonsensical com-
position could hardly escape the pen of a maniac. The author, however, well satisfied
with its merits, and stung with indignation and disappointment, vented his rage in an
additional stanza, against the owner, and sang it wherever he had an opportunity of raising
his angry voice. As satire, however gross, is but too generally well received, the song
first became a favorite with the lower orders, then found its way into ballads, and at length
into the convivial meetings of gentlemen. It was in one of these that Millikin undertook,
432
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
in the gaiety of the moment, to produce a song that, if not superior, should be at least
equal in absurdity to 'Castle Hyde,' and accordingly, taking Blarney for his subject, he soon
made good his promise."
The fifth stanza, beginning " Tis there's the kitchen hangs many a flitch in," was not
written by Milliken. It was added at an electioneering dinner in the south of Ireland, and
is (probably incorrectly) attributed to JOHN LANDER. It was evidently intended as an
insult to Lord Donoughrnore, who happened to be present, and turned its point by ap-
plauding the verse, and then, in a humorous speech, winning the company.
After Millikin's death, the following fragment was found among his papers :
O, Blarney, in my rude, unseemly rhymes,
Albeit abused, lo 1 to thy bowers I come —
I come a pilgrim to your shades again,
And woo thy solemn scenes with votive pipe.
Shut not your glades, nymphs of the hollow rock,
'Gainst one who, conscious of the ill he did,
Comes back repentant ! Lead me to your dens,
Ye fays and sylvan beings — lead me still
Through all your wildly-tangled grots and groves,
With Nature, and her genuine beauties full ;
And on another stop, a stop thine own,
I'll sound thy praise, if praise of mine can please, —
A truant long to Nature, and to thee I
FRANCIS MAHONY (" Father Prout") added a stanza, to introduce the appropriate figure
of the " Blarney Stone " into the otherwise perfect scenery :
There is a stone there,
That whoever kisses,
Oh I he never misses
To grow eloquent ;
'Tis he may clamber
To a lady's chamber,
Or become a member
Of Parliament.
A clever spouter
He'll soon turn out, or
An out-and-out-er,
•' To be let alone."
Don't hope to hinder him,
Or to bewilder him,
Sure?s he's a pilgrim
From the Blarney Stone.
. .
1. The groves of
2. 'Tis La - dy
Blar - ney, they look so charming, All by the purl -ing of sweet si -lent
Jef -freys that owns this sta - tion, Like Al - ex - an - der or Queen Hel - en
streams, Being bank' d with po - sies that spon -ta - neous grow there, Plant -ed in
fair, There's no com - mand - er throughout the na - tion, For em - u -
THE GROVES OF BLARNEY.
i=£=r^=ziz=:
sy and the sweet car -
her that no nine -
the sweet rock close ;
with her com - pare ;
— 0 • — h
na - tion, The bloom-ing pink and the rose so fair,....
pound - er -Could dare to plun - der her place of strength,
The daf-fy-down-
But O-H-ver
sweet, f ra - grant air.
her bat - tie - ment
the li - ly, Flow'rs that scent
her pum - mel, And made a breach
dil - ly,
Crom - well,
The groves of Blarney, they look so charming,
All by the purling of sweet, silent streams,
Being bank'd with posies that spontaneous grow
there,
Planted in order by the sweet rock close :
'Tis there the daisy and the sweet carnation,
The blooming pink and the rose so fair ;
The daffy-down-dilly, beside the lily,
Flowers that scent the sweet, fragrant air.
'Tis Lady Jeffreys that owns this station,
Like Alexander or Queen Helen fair,
There's no commander throughout the nation,
For emulation can with he*" compare :
She has castles round her that no nine-pounder
Could dare to plunder her place of strength ;
But Oliver Cromwell, he did her pummel,
And made a breach in her battlement.
There's gravel walks there for speculation,
And conversation in sweet solitude ;
:Tis there the lover may hear the dove, or
The gentle plover in the afternoon ;
And if a young lady should be so engaging
As to walk alone in those shady bow'rs,
Tis there her courtier he may transport her
In some dark fort or underground.
For
cave where no daylight
'tis there's
enters,
But bats and badgers are for ever bred ;
Being moss'd by nature that makes it sweeter
Than a coach-and-six, or a feather bed ;
'Tis there's the lake that is stor'd with perches,
And comely eels in the verdant mud,
Beside the leeches and the groves of beeches,
All standing in order to guard the flood.
'Tis there's the kitchen hangs many a flitch 5n»
With the maids a stitching on the stair ;
The bread and biske', the beer and whiskey,
Would make you frisky, if you were there ;
'Tis there you'd see Peg Murphy's daughter,
A washing pratees, forenent the door,
With Roger Cleary, and Father Healy,
All blood relations to Lord Donoughmore.
There's statues gracing this noble place in,
All heathen goddesses so fair ;
Bold Neptune, Plutarch, and Nicodemus,
All standing naked in the open air.
So now to finish this brave narration,
Which my poor geni could not entwine,
But were I Homer, or Nebuchadnezzar,
'Tis in ev'ry feature I would make it shine.
434
OUli, FAMILIAR SONGS.
A FROG HE WOULD A WOOING GO.
"THE Froggie came to the mill door" was one of the songs in Wedderburn's 'Com-
playnt of Scotland/ 1548. On Npvember 21, 1580, a license was granted to E. WHITE, of
a " ballad of a most strange wedding of the froggie and the mousie."
fr
1. A frog he would a woo - ing go,
2- Off he sat with his op - era hat,
Heigh - ho! said Row-ly,
Heigh - ho! said llow-ly,
frog he would a woo - ing go,
Off he sat with his op - era hat,
Whether his mother would let him or 110, With a
On the road he met with a rat, With a
Row - ly pow - ly, gammon and spinach, Heigh - o ! said An - tho - ny Row-ly.
They soon arrived at the mouse's hall,
Heigho, etc.
They gave a loud tap, and they gave a loud call !
With a rowly powly, etc.
Pray, Mrs. Mouse, are you within,
Heigho, etc.
Yes, kind sirs, I'm sitting to spin,
With a rowly powly, etc.
<Tome, Mrs. Mouse, now give us some beer,
Heigho, etc.
That froggy and I may have some cheer,
With a rowly powly, etc.
Pray Mr. Frog will you give us a song,
Heigho, etc.
Let the subject be something that's not very long,
With a rowly powly, etc.
Indeed, Mrs. Mouse, replied the frog,
Heigho, etc.
A cold has made me as hoarse as a hog,
With a rowly powly, etc.
Since you have caught cold, Mr. Frog, mousy said.
Heigho, etc.
I'll sing you a song that I have just made,
With a rowly powly, etc.
As they were in glee and a merry making,
Heigho, etc.
A cat and her kittens came tumbling in,
With a rowly powly, etc.
The cat she seized the rat by the crown,
Heigho, etc.
The kittens they pull'd the little mouse down,
With a rowly powly, etc.
This put Mr. Frog in a terrible fright,
Heigho, etc.
He took up his hat and he wished them good night,
With a rowly powly, etc.
As froggy was crossing it over a brook,
Heigho, etc.
A lily white duck came and gobbled him up,
With a rowly powly, etc.
So here is an end of one, two and three,
Heigho, etc.
The rat, the mouse and little Froggy,
With a rowly powly, etc.
THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN. 435
THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN.
THIS song is altered from an old ballad, entitled "The old and young Courtier." Pepya
writes in his Diary, June 16, 1668 : "Come to Newbery, and there dined — and musick: a
song of the ' Old Courtier of Queen Elizabeth/ and how he was changed upon the coming
in of the King, did please me mightily, and I did cause W. Hewer to write it out." The
old ballad begins :
An old song made by an aged old pate
Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a great estate,
That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate,
And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate ;
Like an old courtier of the Queen's
And the Queen's old courtier.
The " Fine old English Gentleman " was made the subject of a curious copyright trial,
an account of which is given by Mr. Henry Phillips, in his " Eecollections." He says:
" Having been invited to an evening party in the City, where music was to be the presiding
deity, I met (I believe for the first time) an amateur of some celebrity, Mr. Crewe, whc>
was a bookseller in Lamb's, Conduit Street, and possessed of a beautiful voice. He sang
the Irish melodies charmingly, generally without accompaniment, which gave them a
wildness and originality, that at times was quite enchanting. ' Bich and rare were the
gems she wore/ was- one of his great songs ; in fact, I think he rarely escaped without
singing it. This evening he threw off his bardic mantle, and sang a song we had never
heard before, 'The Old English Gentleman." All were in raptures with it; 'Whose is it?'
' Where did it come from ?' ' How did you obtain it ? ' were the questions put from all
quarters, terminating with, ' Do sing it again ! ' As for me, I was in ecstasies ; I saw in
an instant what I could do with it, and eagerly inquired where it could be obtained.
Whether I might introduce it to the public. I felt it was a fortune to me if I could be tha
person to do so. Mr. Crewe informed me it was a very old song, and that any one had a
right to it. With this, I begged a copy, which he said he would send me next day. In
strict accordance with his promise, I received and immediately began to study it. My
conception of the reading was rapid in the extreme, and I soon gained the confidence
necessary for its production ; but one thing presented itself as an obstacle to success,,
which was, that the third verse related to the death of the old English gentleman. ' This
won't do/ thought I ; l the living multitudes do not like to hear of the old gentleman
dying, so I wrote a fourth verse myself, which ran thus :
* These good old times have passed away, and all such customs fled,
We've now no fine old gentlemen, or young ones in their stead;
Necessity has driven hope and charity away,
Yet may we live to welcome back that memorable day,
Which reared those fine old gentlemen, all of the olden time.'
" The first time I sang it in public, was at a grand concert given on the stage of her
Majesty's Italian Opera in the Haymarket, where Sir George Smart conducted. We had a,
very large orchestra, led by Mori, and nearly all the first Italian and English singers
appeared during the evening. Towards the end of the first act, I sat down to the grand
piano-forte, and commenced ' The old English Gentleman.' At the end of the first verse, the
applause was great ; at the termination of the second verse, still greater ; at the third, it
increased ; and at the end such a storm arose that I was quite bewildered, and could not
understand whether it meant condemnation of my song, or a re-demand. In my hesitation.
I hurried off the stage, and made for our ante-room at the back. Sir George hastened af-
ter me, saying rather angrily, l Why don't you come back ?'
436 OUR FAMILIAR SONGS
11 What is it, Sir George ? " said I. " Are they hissing me ? n
" Hissing ! " he replied ; " no, it's a tremendous encore."
" And it was an encore, indeed, such as I had never received before, and have never
witnessed since. After that you may be sure I fired away at the ' Old English Gentleman'
wherever I went. Next morning, my friend Mori asked me all about this song, as he was
anxious to publish it. I told him all I knew, where I first heard it, shewed him the man-
uscript copy sent to me by Mr. Crewe, and that I understood from that gentleman it was a
very old song, and the property of any one who liked to take it up. In less than a week
it appeared with my name on the title-page, and a conspicuous line saying no copy was
correct or genuine but that published by Mori and signed by me. The song began to sell
immensely, and for a few days promised an abundant harvest ; when lo ! out came an edi-
tion by Mr. Purday, of Holborn, and simultaneous with that, half-a-dozen other music shops
issued their version j for it spread rapidly that I had said it was an old song and the prop-
erty of any one. Mr. Purday fired the first shot by issuing a notice to all transgressors
that the song was his property and his alone, and demanding the withdrawal of all other
editions, and an account of all the copies that had been sold. A most unenviable mark I
stood in the midst of all. this contention. I could do no more than repeat my information.
Mr. Purday publicly questioned my veracity ; and Mr. Mori threatened me with all sorts of
vengeance for having deceived him ; until, in the end, all set Mr. Purday at defiance, and
that gentleman having nothing left but to bring the case before a jury, an action was con-
sequently commenced and fixed to take place, with as little delay as possible, in Westmin-
ster Hall. Mr. Purday everywhere asserted he had purchased the copyright, which was
not then credited ; for though he was not a very young-looking gentleman, we were quite
sure he did not live during the reign of Elizabeth, at about which period we knew the
words were written. So all remained a mystery till the trial, which was certainly a very
droll one, and caused more laughter than is usually heard in courts of law.
"All the editions were now withdrawn, with the exception of that claimed by Mr. Pur-
day, and, by the day fixed for the trial, every species of musical authority had been sum-
moned, as it became evident to the legal advisers that the question must turn upon the
originality of the melody. It would not be sufficient for even the author to make oath
that it was his composition, if it was like something else, for people generally thought the
air was familiar. All speculation at length ceased, and the musical world stood breathless,
waiting the issue of this interesting inquiry. When the trial came on, the court was
crowded with persons connected with such matters.
"After several eminent musicians had been called, but had failed to throw any light on
the question, Mr. Tom Cooke was called. Up jumped Mr. Tom into the witness-box, as
light as a fairy. Every one seemed under the impression that this witness would turn the
scale, though the barristers were much disposed to think, with Dr. Johnson, that ' fiddlers
have have no brains.' "
Counsel. — Your name is Thomas Cooke, I believe? Tom. — So I've always been led
to believe. Counsel. — And a professor of music? Tom. — A professor of the divine art.
Counsel. — We'll put the divinity aside, for the present, Mr. Cooke. Tom (sotto voce). —
Don't like music. Counsel— Do you know a song called "The old English gentleman?"
Tom.— No ! I do not ; I've heard it Counsel— Don't know it, but has heard it, my Lud.
I suppose, sir, if you were asked, you could sing it T Tom. — I'm not quite sure I could ;
I've a bad memory, unless I receive a refresher. A loud laugh went through the court.
Usher. Si lence ! Counsel. — I see you're inclined to be very witty, Mr. Cooke. Tom.
—Upon my honor, I'm not, I'm only telling the truth. (Another general laugh). Usher.
Si lence ! Counsel. — Now, Mr. Cooke, attend particularly to this question. Do you or
do you not believe that the melody in dispute is an ancient melody, or a modern one?
THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN.
437
Tom. — Well, that, you see, depends entirely on when it was written. It might be five
hundred years old, or it may have been written yesterday. It's a mighty accommodating
tune, and would do for either period. Counsel.— It really appears to me that there is no
probability of coming to any definite conclusion, unless his Lordship and the Court were
to hear it. We cannot ask you, Mr. Cooke, of course, to sing it ; but if you had an instru-
ment, could you play it ? Tom.— What! at sight? (A roar of laughter). Counsel.— -I don't
know what you mean by at sight, sir, but if the tune were put before you, could you play
it? Tom.— I think, if my nerve does not fail me, I could. Counsel.— What instrument
can we get you, sir"? Tom. — Oh, anything. Counsel. — Oh, anything. A Jew's-harp?
Tom.— No; it might require a Jew's eye to read the music. Counsel. — Will a fiddle
do, sir? Tom. — Yes. Counsel. — Let a fiddle be got.
" The fiddle was brought into court, and handed to the witness, who tuned it and placed
the music before him. A suppressed laugh ran through the court. Mr. Cooke had just
produced the first note, when the usher called out, 'Si lence ! "' Tom. — What! mustn't
[ play it? Counsel. — Yes, yes ; go on, sir. Mr. Cooke played it slowly and deliberately
through. Judge. — Is that all ? Tom. — It is, my Lord. Judge. — Well, that appears to be
very simple and easy. Tom. — (Holding out the bow and violin.) — It is. Will your Lord-
ship try it ? This sally was followed by roars of laughter. Counsel. — Now, Mr. Cooke, as
you profess to be a musician, will you tell us, in the first place, is that which you have just
played, a melody ? Tom. — Well, I really don't think it is. The first part is merely ascend-
ing the scale, and the few bars afterwards I don't think really amount to a melody.
Counsel. — This is evading the question. Do you know what a melody is? Tom. — I'm
an Irishman, and I think I do. Counsel. — Well, define it. Tom. — Define what? Both
parties were now in a passion. Counsel. — Define, sir, what is a melody. Tom. — It's im-
possible. Counsel. — Can you decline a verb, sir ? Tom. — I think I can. Counsel. — Do,
then. Tom. — (Seeming to think, and casting his eyes about him with a satirical smile.)
— I'm an ass, he's an ass, and (pointing to the barrister) you're an ass. (Koars of
laughter, in which the Judge joined.) Counsel. — Let that witness stand down.
tl All means and witnesses having failed to stamp the song as an original melody, the
decision was left in the hands of the jury, who, under all the circumstances, declared in
favor of Mr. Purday, and he became sole possessor of the ' Old English Gentleman.' "
Quassi reeititive.
1. I'll sing you an old bal - lad that was made by an old pate, Of a
2. His hall so old, was hung a - round with pikes, and guns, and bows, With
poor old Eng - lish pen - tie - man, who
swords, and good old buck -lers, that had
had an old eg- tate;
stood 'gainst ma - ny foes ;
He
And
438
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
kept a brave old man - sion at a
there his wor - ship sat in state, in
boun - ti - fnl old rate,
doub - let aud trunk-hose,
With a
And
IkM «u
3 — ; — i— i — i — i — i-
--]—, — +-
M ~4 i** ^-'
"p *
i
* ! -Hrtrr-
good old por - ter to re - lieve the
quaff'd a cup of good old wine, to
* • 9
old poor at his gate, Like a
warm his good old nose, Like a
• • ?s\
up _j_ — J-6-
y " 4 .
— i — «' — u — « — i — — « — , —
^ V V "*
— t * -r- • — J — 3 * \-k
p | 1 r u'
P%— -t-
— * —
* i r*r-
— s E H=
When winter cold brought Christmas old, he
opened house to all,
And, though three score and ten his years, he
featly led the ball ;
Nor was the houseless wanderer then driven from
the hall,
For, while he feasted all the great, he ne'er forgot
the small —
Like a fine old English gentleman,
all of the olden time.
But time, though old, is strong in flight, and
years roll'd swiftly by,
When autumn's falling leaf foretold this poor old
man must die !
He laid him down right tranquilly, gave up life's,
latest sigh,
While heavy sadness fell around, and tears be-
dewed each eye —
For this good old English gentle-
man, all of the olden time.
OLD KING VOLE.
OLD KING COLE.
439
IT seems to be established that there was an ancient king of Britain named King Cole,
and tradition places him in the third century. There was a famous cloth-manufacturer, of
Reading, England, whose nickname of King Cole became proverbial through an apparently
popular story-book of the sixteenth century, and " Old Cole " was a standing nickname
among the dramatists of the Elizabethan age. So it is not to be wondered at that the
name should be celebrated in a ballad. The original song probably gave birth to the idea
of " Johnny Schmoker j " for there were innumerable stanzas, with words to imitate tbe
instrument called for, and the whole list was repeated at the close of each stanza. —
" The harpers three, twang-a-twang,"
" The armorers three, rub-a-dub," etc.
Two stanzas of the modern song run thus :
Old King Cole, though a merry old soul,
Nor read nor write could he ;
For to read and write, 'twere useless, quite,
When he kept a secretary.
So his mark for " Rex" was a single " X "
And his drink was ditto double ;
For he scorned the fetters of four-and-twenty letters,
And it sav'd him a vast deal of trouble.
For Old King Cole, etc.
On Old King Cole's left cheek was a mole,
So he called for his secretary ;
And he bade him look in a fortune-telling book,
And read him his destiny.
And the secretary said, when his fate he had read,
And cast his nativity,
A mole on the face boded something would take place,
But not what that something might be.
For Old King Cole, etc.
1. Old King Cole was a mer-ry old soul, And a mer-ry old soul was he,
2. Old King Cole tho' a mer-ry old soul, Nor read nor write could he;
He
For to
call'd for his pipe, and he call'd for his bowl, And he call'd f or his fid - dlers three, And
read and write, 'twere use - less quite, When he kept a sec - re -ta - ry. So his
s
440
OUR FAMILIAR
Egg*
— V --
— —
ev' - ry fid - dler had a fine fid-die, And ev'-ry fiddler had a fine fiddle,
And a
mark for " Rex " was a sin- gle "X" — And his drink was dit - to double,
For he
5
_j i-^y.
•r —
T-
3L-; i I" ••Jarfr—3
s — zN-Js
$=$=£
ve -ry find fid-die had he ; And a ve - ry fine
— ^^2"~~1
3*3
fid- die had he,
For
5£3|§
scorn'd the fet-ters of four-and-twenty letters,And it sav'd him a vast deal of trouble, For
^ ^ — ' S[ — — ^— • • — H~ — ^
LJ _p LJ W._iJ^ I £? C*
i — 3£nJ — ?sq£
m
*~] "H
Old King Cole, was a merry old soul, and a mer-ry old soul was he;
He
:~1— -p~t^f— P-?
0 0—0=* ?-+-
^— Js
U5—
^ *
call'd for his pipe, and he call'd for his bowl, And he call'd for his fid - dlers three.
S
SAINT PATRICK WAS A GEXTLEMAX.
SAINT PATRICK WAS A GENTLEMAN.
441
IT is contended by some, that Saint Patrick was not even a man, let alone being a
gentleman. He is said to be as much a myth as the bogle that points out the gold by
moonlight, or the banshee that has frightened our young wits in the story-books. And so,
we suppose, he never preached his sermon, and Irishmen never learned how to drink
whiskey, and old Ireland has as many clusters of snakes as a Southern swamp in June.
Alas, for the sweet old faith !
The song has not recorded its own genealogy as carefully as it has that of the saint ;
but we know that the three stanzas of which it originally consisted — the first, second, and
fifth — were the joint impromptu production of Mr. HENRY BENNETT and Mr. TOLEKEN, of
Cork. They were written in the winter of 1814, to be sung by the authors at a masqerade,
where they appeared as ballad-singers, and sang alternate lines. The song became an
immediate favorite, and, at the request of Webbe, the comedian, Toleken wrote the sixth
stanza. The third and fourth are of unknown origin.
Saint Pat-rick was a gen - tie-men, and he come of de - cent peo - pie,
There's not a mile in Ireland's isle, where the dirt -y ver- min mus - ters,
Nine hundred thou-sand rep- tiles blue, he charm'd with sweet dis-cours - es,
No won- der that those I - rish lads should be so gay and frisk - y,
In
Where-
And
For Saint
-tea • -'*-'• : - — ••— : -
- -f\
"
'
' . p _ s....l
h
Ik
K
N N N £
J
^v
.
p
J
J
1
rm j
h.
l\ _p
•
[V
•
2
J l^
J J 5CI3I
•
9
* 1
Dub - lin town he built a church, and he
e'r he put his dear fore - foot, he
dined on them at Kil - la - loe, in
Pat - rick taught them first the joys of
put a' - pon't a stee - pie. His
mur- der'd them in clus - ters. The
soups and sec - ond cours - es. When
tip - pling the whis - key. No
E — ^ • i | | ^ p— ^ ^
1 1 1 J
v — =r~:l
L ) J J J J J
M fl A M
1
i i i i ^
\
jft/«ft I* s» m \»
— J- E^gE — J-
V— T— 1
^^' i i
5=1
i^ — i* — P — s» — P =-
V
(m j — v 1 --V — ^— / T •• • — «
1 I U- -£ — f-
=rr:l
fa- ther was a "Wol - lo - gan, his moth - er was a Gra - dy,
i"
toads went hop. the frogs went flop, slap dash in - to the wa - ter, And the
blindworms crawl- ing in the grass, dis - gast - ed all the na - tion, He
won - der that the saint him - self to taste it should be wil - ling, For his
442
OUli FAMILIAR SONGS.
:=^:.
aunt she was a Kiu - ni - gan, and his wife the wid - ow Bra - dy. \
snakes com - mit - ted su - i - cide to save them - selves from slaugh - ter. I Then suc-
gave them a rise, which ope'd their eyes to a sense of their sit - u - a - tion. C
moth - er kept a she - ban shop, iu the town of En - nis - kil - len. )
A *t ^
pr^ — s P — i
1 f— -~F'
—^~~ — — R
(r\ — b ^ — — ^ S N —
-f » J-
— d ^v If
^J * 0 0 Ji^J m
t 0 0 II
gave the snakes and toads a twist, And
V V
ban- ish'd them for
- ev er.
T""™ fl
i1 — —^ — ^ — 4 4 — 4 — (H
1 r f f f
s
fe)» ^ -3— * . — J-
-—, = fr-
— f ' t—H
1 1 .. | | 1
•0-
^ ^~
u^,' C II
The Wicklow hills are very high, and so's the
hill of Howth, sir,
But there's a hill much higher still, ay, higher
than them both, sir;
'Twas on the top of this high hill St. Patrick
preached the sarment,
He drove the frogs into the bogs, and bother'd
all the varment.
Then success, etc.
Oh ! was I but so fortunate as to be back in
Munster,
' Tis 111 be bound that from that ground I never more
would once stir.
For there St, Patrick planted turf, and plenty of
the praties,
With pigs galore, ma gra, ma 'store, and cab-
bages — and ladies !
Then success, etc .
THE ROAST BEEF OF OLD ENGLAND.
THIS song first appeared in Walsh's " British Miscellany," about 1740. It was, except
the first two verses, which are Fielding's, written and composed by RICHARD LEVERIDGE,
one of the most famous of English singers. The country and parentage of Leveridge are
unknown. About 1726, be opened a coffee-house in London, which was a popular resort
for the hail-fellows of his time. He had a bass voice of wonderful compass aud power,
and composed song melodies which became immense favorites. He also composed opera
music, and published two pocket volumes of songs j but his great work is the music in the
THE JtOAST BEEF OF OLD ENGLAND.
MS
play of « Macbeth," which is almost universaUy attributed to Lock. Leveridge's music was
performed January 25, 1704. Lock's music, which was composed half a century earlier is
entirely different.
When Leveridge was over sixty years old, he thought his voice still so good that he
offered a wager of a hundred guineas, to sing a bass song with any man in England. He
sang in pantomime when over eighty, personating Pluto, Neptune, and other heathen
divinities. His companions secured an annual sum for his support until his death, March
22, 1758, at the age of eighty-eight.
Allegr
Jr — fi — k-
?.
— •
— ^— 1
tiff Jufc
—x—. * — x £
^ N 1
Ccp 8 • — \p — £— b — f
1. Since might -y roast be
2. But since we have leai
-A— j; , 1 !
<fa I 1 * I *i
: 4-x- * [. U i Q [^# fv ^^' J |
3f is an En-glishman's food, It ac - counts for the free- dom that
from ef - fern - i - nate France To eat their ra - gouts, as
, _-, J--F =, S * s J a > ^^_
gO
/
1 — =T~
=^=-5
- 1 ',
. J . ..M I
i <
i
i
^ —
p
— i
1
j~
1
8=1
^
1? i SH:
^j-l
gj
M
i-F a] J"
-*— « —
i — a_j
^^
I !
* i
4 1
I J •* j Jq
|J/ -nf!! N | _fs 1
1 ^ N _T _T
-h — F- —
runs in '.
well as
iis blood, For
to dance, We are
gen - er - ous liv - ing's the
fed up with noth - ing but
I — N — 1 — —
J - N * *
step to all good,
vain com- plais- ance.
K\) *1 J
•^ fS 5 N
-J * «1 J =»-
J 1 « 1
*=4 = ' f $ *
ZZQ
,' —
(E? — • — =1—
0 ^ *1 1*
r 1 1 1
3 ^ — "
•
J t>
-k=
^^
-^Hv
m
the roast beef of old Eng - land! And oh! the old Eng-lish roast beef!.
Our fathers of old were robust, stout, and strong,
And kept open house with good cheer all daj' long,
Which made their plump tenants rejoice in this
song,
Oh ! the roast beef, etc.
When good Queen Elizabeth sat on the throne,
Ere coffee and tea and such slipslops were known,
The world was in terror if e'en she did frown.
Oh ! the roast beef, etc.
In those days, if fleets did presume on the main,
They seldom or never return'd back again ;
As witness the vaunting Armada of Spain.
Oh ! the roast beef, etc.
Oh, then we had the stomachs to eat and to fight,
And when wrongs were cooking, to set ourselves
right,
But now we're a — hum ! — I could, but — good nightl
Oh ! the roast beef, etc.
444
OUli FAM1L1AH HONGS.
BUY A BROOM.
THE ballad of " Buy a Broom " is spoken of as Bishop's, by Parke, in his " Musical
Memoirs." The air is an old, familiar, German melody, called " Lieber Augustin." Hans
Christian Andersen refers to the old song in his characteristic story of " The Swineherd."
The burden of the chorus was
" Ach du lieber Augustin,
Alles ist weg, weg, weg I "
" Ob, Ihou dear Augustiu,
All is gone, gone, gone I "
&
1? ft3 — ' —
—
0 0-
~* * i*
-* —
|
- ,
i rjjg
*~f * i*
fC\j — 4 — * — ~
-
1 —
^ ^. 1
1. From Teutchland I came with my light wares i
2. To brush a - way in - sects that sometimes a
3. Ere win - ter comes on, for sweet home soon <
9
111
n -
ie-
B
la - den, To dear, hap - py
noy you, You'll find it quite
part - ing, My toils for your
• • rt
rv&) — * —
—
.m
p
-p
*
•
i r~ " ~* r~~r
ft £
r
, ~~|
4
•J -
j-
i
— •
— s
•? — 1 — i
E — J— H — -— H—
— I j
~0~f i ' '
-1 1 1 — 1
rfft ~ * "
— ^ —
— i 3
0
1 1
- — J — J-
• ~*
*r 00 I/ I/ • *
Eng- land, in sum - mer's gay bloom, Then lis - ten, fair la - dy, and
han - dy, to use night and day; And what bet - ter ex - er - cise,
fa - vor a - gain I'll re - sume, And while grat - i - tude's tear in my
^•| ij f. £_
— _ 0 0 —
0 i
r i 1
r *
.^
" i* — r
-. F ~* H
-4 1 . i. I]
— 0 1
— J 1
1 LL
young pret - ty maid -en, Oh! buy of the wand'ring Ba - va - rian a broom,
pray, can em - ploy you, Than to sweep all vex - a - tious in - tru - ders a - way.
eye' - lid is start - ing, Bless the time that in Eng - land, I cried buy a broom.
Buy a broom ! buy a broom ! Oh 1 buy of the wand'ring Ba - va - rian
Buy a broom! buy a broom! Than to sweep all vex - a - tious in - tru - ders
Buy a broom! buy a broom I Bless the time that in Eng-land, I cried by
a broom I
a - way.
a broom !
ROBINSON CRUSOE.
JACK CTTSSANS, a singer, and a clever English vagabond, who lived in the early part of
this century, wrote for his own singing the words of " Poor Robinson Crusoe." The air
was taken from a pantomime called " Robinson Crusoe, or Harlequin Friday," which was
acted in Drury Lane Theatre, in 1781, and was said to have been devised by Sheridan. It
was revived successfully at the same theatre, in December, 1808.
ROBINSON CRUSOE.
-^—, — ,__- =t
1. When T was
2. P'raps you've read in
a lad, I had cause to be sad, My grandfa-ther I did
a book Of a voy - age that he took, And how the raging whirl-wind
fffc ff * .
— 1 is
— ^ — — * p~
-^— p— p — ^ _T / 1 ; f—f — i~ E3E
S2 —
lose
blew
O ; I'll bet you a can, You have heard »f the man, — His
so, That the ship with a shock drove plump on a rock, Near
- j_ 0BBBBBQ.- . . mffraa .
' 0t # J -1 ' '
•} nn — r-? — -£^ ^ — ?
H "MT 3=3 7—1 :M
v\P * J
• /
-* 7
ii ^ ri
— ^— i— 1 — -2 3 — J J
- * , ^* i "
Cilia
- -- * j< --~\
23g *-v
•- 9 —
-*— — ?— — •
? - H -^1 — *?H
» p is— f~i = — f-»— «
' — r — r~* — T T 1 ^ ' — ^~T- T —
/ — > ^ — *_±Z5__ ^ 1± p —
name it was Rob - in - son Cru
drowning poor Rob - in - son Cru
soe !
soe !
O I
0 1
Rob - in - son
Rob - in - son
Cru
Cru
soe,
soe,
=2—
* - -- ~ - -- — r-— J-J-
(=S=fe
^Eife^
— «—
-•-
9E
Ep^E^g
poor Rob - in - son Cru
-j"
soe I
Tiuk a tink tang,
II
Tink a tink tang;
O! poor Rob - in - son Cru
soe I
446
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
Poor soul ! none but he
Remain'd on the sea ;
Ah ! fate, fate, how could you do so !
Till ashore he was thrown,
On an island unknown ;
Oh ! poor Robinson Crusoe !
He wanted something to eat,
And he sought for some meat,
But the cattle away from him flew so,
That, but for his gun,
He'd been surely undone ;
Oh ! my poor Robinson Crusoe !
But he sav'd from aboard
An old gun and a sword,
And another odd matter or two, so
That, by dint of his thrift,
He manag'd to shift;
Well done, Robinson Crusoe.
And he happen'd to save
From the merciless wave
A poor parrot ; I assure you, 'tis true ! so
That when he'd come home
From a wearisome roam,
She'd cry out, " Poor Robinson Crusoe ! "
He got all the wood
That ever he could,
And stuck it together with glue, so
That he made him a hut,
In which he might put
The carcase of Robinson Crusoe.
He us'd to wear an old cap,
And a coat with long flap,
With a beard as long a Jew, so
That, by all that is civil,
He look'd like a devil
More than like Robinson Crusoe.
And then his man Friday,
Kept the house neat and tidy —
To be sure, 'twas his business to do so—
They liv'd friendly together,
Less like servant than neighbor,
Liv'd Friday and Robinson Crusoe.
At last, an English sail
Came near within hail ;
Then he took to his little canoe, so
That, on reaching the ship,
The captain gave him a trip
Back to the country of Robinson Crusoe.
THE BOWLD SOJER BOY.
SAMUEL LOVER, who wrote a multitude of fine characteristic Irish songs, was born in
Dublin, Ireland, in 1797. Although not classically educated, he was an eager reader of
good literature, and that which he made himself has wide renown. Besides being compo-
ser of both words and music of many songs, and a novel, sketch, and play writer, he was
a portrait painter of such eminence that the office of court painter was tendered him.
Illness in his family forbade his acceptance, and, oddly enough, the post declined by Lover,
was immediately filled by an artist named Hayter. When twenty-one years old, at a pub-
lic dinner given to Tom Moore, Lover was called on for a song, and gave one of his own,
which was received with great enthusiasm. In later life, when the double strain of pen
and pencil had seriously affected his eyesight, the remembered success of that time sug-
gested the establishment of an entertainment called " Irish Evenings," which consisted of
mingled reading, recitation, and singing of his own compositions. He travelled through
Great Britain and the United States, and in both countries met with triumphant success.
His genial nature rendered him a delightful guest, and his visit furnished new and pleasant
material for continued popularity at home. Lover died, July 6, 1868.
---- — J-
1. Ohlhere's not a thrade that's going.Worth showing, or knowing. Like that from glory growing, For a
3. But when wo get the route,How they pout, And thev shout.While, to the right-a - bout Goes the
6. "Then come a-Iong with me, Grama- chree, And you'll see How hap-py you will be With your
-t I I
FT g C C
. .
/ 1
w U
r
rrrr
THE BOWLD SOJEE BOY.
447
bowld so -jer boy! Where right or left we go, Sure you know, Friend or foe, Wi
bowld so - jer boy ! 'Tis then that la - dies fair, In dos - pair Tear their hair, Bu
bowld so -jer boy I "Faith if you're up to fun, With me run, 'Twill be done In
Will
But the
the
have the hand or toe, From the bowld so - jer boy. 2. There's not a town we march thro', But
div'l a one I care, Says the bowld so -jer boy. 4. For the world is all be- fore us. Where the
snapping of a gun," Says the bowld so- jer boy. 6." And 'tis then that with-out scan-dal, My-
=F=P=
rr
£=£
i
m
^
la- dies, look- ing arch, thro' the win-dow panes will sarch Thro' the ranks to find their joy, While
land- la -dies a-dore us, And ne'er 'fuse to score us, But chalks us up with joy. We
self will proud-ly dan - die The little farthing can-die Of our mu- tual flame, my joy, May
up the street, each girl you meet. With looks so sly Will cry "My eye ! oh I isn't he a darling,The bowld soj'er boy !"
taste her tap,Wn tear her cap,"Oh that's the chap forme," says she,"Oh 1 isn't he a darling,The bowld sojcr boy !"
his light shine As bright as mine,Till in the line He'll blaze, And raiseThe glory of his corps.like a bowld sojer boy !'»
tt
S
£§£
-£
V V
t~t
J'-V V.
THE CORK LEG.
OF this old air, we only know that JONATHAN BLEWITT blew it, and a wild hurricane
ne made of it, too. He also blew various other airs which are much more zephyr-like.
He received his first inspiration of any air whatever in London, in the year 1782, and
breathed his last air in 1853, having been in the mean while, for some years, director of the
ftoyal Theatre of Dublin.
Allegretto.
1. I'll tell you a tale now with - out an - y flam. In Holland there dwelt
2. One day, he had stuff 'd as full as an egg, When a poor re - la -
3. A siir - geon, the first in his vo - cation, Came and made a long
Myn -
tion
• /* T_^ m | ^
'iiTT •« I f * <
K 6 J 1 .j_ r 2—.JIH
448
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
heer
came
ra - tion,
•
Von Clam, Who "^ ev - 'ry morn - ing " said, I am the rich -est merchant In
to beg, But he kick'd him out without broaching a keg, And in kicking him out he
He wanted a limb for a-nat-o- mi-zation, So he finished the job by
-0-
Z*=p *—j
V 9
Rot - ter - dam. |
broke his own leg. > Ri tu, di nu, di nu, di nu. Ri tu, di ni nu, ri
am - pu - tat 1011.)
Said Mynheer, when he'd done his work,
"By your knife I lose one fork,
But on two crutches I never will stalk,
For I'll have a beautiful leg of cork."
An artist in Rotterdam, 'twould seem,
Had made cork legs his study and theme,
Each joint was as strong as an iron beam, [steam.
The works were a compound of clockwork and
The leg was made, and fitted right,
Inspection the artist did invite,
Its fine shape gave Mynheer delight,
And he fixed it on and screw'd it tight.
He walk'd thro' squares and pass'd each shop,
Of speed he went to the utmost top ;
Each step he took with a bound and a hop,
Till he found his leg he could not stop !
Horror and fright were in his face,
The neighbors thought he was running a race ;
He clung to a post to stay his pace,
The leg remorseless kept up the chase.
i He call'd to some men with all his might,
" Oh ! stop this leg or I'm murder'd quite ! "
But though they heard him aid invite,
He, in less than a minute, was out of sight.
He ran o'er hill and dale and plain ;
To ease his weary bones, he fain
Did throw himself down, — but all in rain,
The leg got up and was off again !
He walk'd of days and nights a score,
Of Europe he had made the tour,
He died — but though he was no more,
The leg walk'd on the same as before !
In Holland sometimes he comes in sigh't,
A skeleton on a cork leg tight.
No cash did the artist's skill requite,
He never was paid — and it sarv'd him right.
My tale I've told both plain and free,
Of the richest merchant that could be,
Who never was buried — though dead, ye see.
And I've been singing his L. E. G. elegy.
CONVIVIAL SONGS,
As o'er the glacier's frozen sheet
Breathes soft the Alpine rose,
So, through life's desert, springing sweety
The flower of friendship grows ;
And as, where'er the roses grow,
Some rain or dew descends,
Tis nature's law that wine should flow
To wet the lips of friends.
— Oliver Wendell Holnwt.
Old Time and I the other night, had a carouse together;
The wine was golden, warm, and bright — aye, just like summer weather.
Quoth I, " Here's Christmas come again, and I no farthing richer; n
Time answered, "Ah! the old, old strain! — I prithee pass the pitcher.
" Why measure all your good in gold ! no rope of sand is weaker;
Tis hard to get, 'tis hard to hold, — come, lad, fill up your beaker.
Has thou not found true friends more true, and loving ones more loving f "
I could but say, " A few, a fewl so keep the liquor moving."
" Hast thou not seen the prosperous knave come down a precious thumper f
His cheats disclosed." " I have, I have I " " Well, surely, that's a bumper I n
*' Nay, hold awhile, I've seen the just find all their hopes grow dimmer ; "
*' They will hold on, and strive, and trust, and conquer." " That's a brimmer.**
** Tis not because to-day is dark, no brighter day's before 'em :
There's rest for every storm-tossed bark." " So be it, pass the joram !
44 Yet I must own, I would not mind to be a little richer."
** Labor and wait, and you may find — " " Halloah I an empty pitcher."
— Mark Lemon,
This song of mine is a song of the vine,
To be sung by glowing embers
Of wayside inns, when the rain begins
To darken the drear Novembers.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
CONVIVIAL SONGS,
SPARKLING AND BRIGHT.
CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN, author of " Sparkling and Bright," was born in the city of
New York in 1806. When he was eleven years old, he was one day down upon the Cort-
landt Street pier watching a steamboat coming in. He sat with his feet swinging over
the side, and one of his legs was crushed by the boat ; yet he afterward became noted for
grace in out-door sports. Mr. Hoffman was graduated at Columbia College, studied and
practised law in New York, and established the Knickerbocker Magazine, which he edited
for a while. He devoted himself to literature until about J850, when he was attacked by
a mental disorder and became an inmate of an insane-hospital. He died in Harrisburg,
Penn., June 7, 1884. The music with which "Sparkling and Bright" has always been
associated was composed for these words by JAMES B. TAYLOB.
I 1^13^=3
1. Sparkling and bright in H - quid light, Does the wine our gob - lets gleam in, "With
2. Oh I if mirth might ar-rest the flight Of Time thro' Life's do - min - ions, We
hue as red as the ro - sy bed, Which a bee would choose to
here a- while would now be- guile The gray- beard of his
dream in.
pin - ious,
f — * * *—
~^~il~ ' 9 1
-•• •*• "•*•
zi;:
452
OUR FAMILIAR SON9S.
CHORUS.
Allero.
^-^-r=^^^E^=^M
Then drink to - night, with hearts as light, - To loves as gay and fleet - ing, As
To drink to - night, with hearts as light, To loves as gay and fleet - ing, As
F=F=^
-t-
tt=$
^
mf
:*+
F?^
3Bt
fet
s )— ^fejy^5
'-. : ii
bub -bles thatewim on the beak - er's brim, And break on the lips while meet - ing, Then
K i r~ P* i
— u — u — » • — F
^
J=F=^5=f
V V-
fc=5=iEi
•— • j _* — * — 'I*~ " — ^"*-j ? — *~*~j — j ' " * * * ^ *
w
-3-
-3-
\ , I J j>> J l» I I
^=^=^=^=1 :Jp==f — j ^izjFF^— zj
drink to - night, with hearts as light, To loves as gay and fleet - ing, As
^i=^:s
i i i ii' nn r**n __ i i
SPAEKLING AND BRIGHT.
453
:j^z=^===:^==^i==^^g^pj==ij J===r^=pj=z=j=r^=ijz==:
'^p^~ — ^ — J ;=z^zbtzzr* t=i - »— F* :•=* izzazi—
bub -b\es that swim on the beak - er's brim, And break on the lips while meet - ing,
::Jnrz5:z: — *m i^'mi"1™ — "zr
?i^r=:£=z=sz= — E=r-£—
---r — r — r—
Sparkling and bright in liquid light,
Does the wine our goblets gleam in ;
With hue as red as the rosy bed
Which a bee would choose to dream in.
Then fill to-night, with hearts as light,
To loves as gay and fleeting
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,
And break on the lips while meeting.
Oh! if Mirth might arrest the flight
Of Time through Life's dominions.
We here a while would now beguile
The graybeard of his pinions,
To drink to-night,*with hearts as light,
To loves as gay and fleeting
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,
And break on the lips while meeting.
But since Delight can't tempt the wight,
Nor fond Regret delay him,
Nor Love himself can hold the elf,
Nor sober Friendship stay him
We'll drink to-night, with hearts as light,
To loves as gay and fleeting
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,
And break on the lips while meeting.
SMOKING AWAY.
" Smoking Away " written by FRANCIS M. FINCH, has long been familiarly sung to the air
of " Sparkling and Bright," Mr. Finch was born at Ithaca, N. Y., was educated at Yale,
and was admitted to the bar at his native town, where he has ever since practised. He is
also author of the well-known poem called " Nathan Hale," or sometimes, " Th6 Patriot
Spy," and of " The Blue and the Gray."
Floating away like the fountains' spray,
Of the snow-white plume of a maiden,
The smoke-wreaths rise to the starlit skies
With blissful fragrance laden.
Cho — Then smoke away till a golden ray
Lights up the dawn of the morrow,
For a cheerful cigar, like a shield, will bar,
The blows of care and sorrow.
The leaf burns bright, like the gems of light,
That flash in the braids of Beauty,
It nerves each heart for the hero's part,
On the battle-plain of duty.
In the thoughtful gloom of his darkened room,
Sits the child of song and story,
But his heart is light, for his pipe burns bright,
And his dreams are all of glory.
By the blazing fire sits the gray-haired sire,
And infant-arms surround him;
And he smiles on all in that quaint old hall,
While the smoke-curls float around him.
In the forest grand of our native land,
When the savage conflict's ended,
The " Pipe of Peace " brought a sweet release
From toil and terror blended.
The dark-eyed train of the maids of Spain
'Neath their arbor shades trip lightly,
And a gleaming cigar, like a new-born star,
In the clasp of their lips burns brightly.
It warms the soul like the blushing bowl,
With its rose-red burden streaming,
And drowns it in bliss, like the first warm kiss
From the lips with love-buds teaming.
Then smoke away till a golden ray
Lights up the dawn of the morrow,
For a cheerful cigar, like a shield, will bar
The blows of care and sorrow.
454
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
BEGONE! DULL CARE.
THIS song dates from the sixteenth century, when it was entitled "Begone, Oldi
The tune was altered from " The Queen's Jig." Its popularity dates from its revival r
present form in a pantomime ballet called " William Tell," performed in 1792, at Sadn
Wells, the oldest theatre in London.
1. Be - gone! dull
2 Too much
3. Be - gone! dull
care,,
care..
I pri-tbee be- gone from me,..
Will make a young man turn grey,.
I'll none of "thy com -pa - ny;..
Be -
And
Be -
gone!
too
gone!
dull
much
care, You and I shall nev - er a - gree,.
care, Will turn an old man to clay .
care, Thou art no pair for me ..
Long
My
We'll
~9 *=>V~?:=f~=:
lb~ ~0-—.
time hast thou been tar - rying here, And fain thouwouldst me kill, But i'
wife shall dance and I will sing, So mer-ri-ly pass thj day, For I
hunt the wild boar through the wold, So mer-ri-ly pass the day, And
faith, dull care, Thou nev-ershalt have thy will.
hold it one of the wis - est things To drive dull care a - way.
then at night, o'er a cheer - ful bowl, We'll drive dull care a - way.
COME, LANDLORD, FILL THE FLOWING HOWL.
455
y 3 JS is an old English convivial song. Tt was formerly known as " The Jolly Fellov/7
jhe present words are founded on an old song in FLETCHER'S play, "The Bloody
jther, or Kobert, Duke of Normandy."
The first eight measures may be sung as a Solo.
1. Come, land - lord, fill the flow - ing bowl, Un - til it does run o - ver, Come,
2. He that drink - eth strong beer, And goes to bed right mel - low,— Lives
^f-E-P=E=rf
£:
™T
^
J-
.
feg
P?
land -lord, fill the flow- ing bowl Uu - til it does run o - ver.
as he ought to live, And dies a heart - y fel - low.
*
t-t f if
> P U_ i i
-=1 — 1
+ f f
i - i
CHORUS.
EEE3
t
For to-night we'll mer- ry, mer- ry be, For to-night we'll mer - ry , mer - ry be,
^•^:^:N £' ± ± ±: ?: ± ±: ^: ±
+•
r
456
dF«&~^ - Tr""^
OUR
1 ^ ft
FAMILIAR SONGS.
]foi{ i: f *=*-**=*-
J- Jr> J-; Jr> 1 N fc -j j 1
• •— r 9 * — jj 4—\
»» ft* .J. -J-" '
For to-night we'll
mer-ry, mer-ry be, — To - mor - row we'll get so - ber.
(ft* ft T"JC
'-£—?-
g : r • r i ; * i ; i j ^
F
£3__|
- — b
^ 1 —
•J j
-15— 5-
0 "
^— f — b ^ 5 b — ^ *— H
^ — i
— i — IE
g i ^ r zi- j ^ ug ^r— ^~ti
^ t t 3 T
— r
r— —to ,—
^3 — » 1—
• -— 4— -— — Tfc^H- '^— ! -. -
He
— I
— — * ^^J
that drinketh small beer,
He that courts a pretty girl,
And goes to bed sober, —
And courts her for his pleasure, —
Falls as the leaves do fall,
Is a knave unless he marries her
That die in dull October,
Without store or treasure.
Come,
landlord, etc.
Come, landlord, etc.
Punch cures the gout,
So now let us dance and sing,
The colic and phthisic;
And drive away all sorrow, —
So it is to all men
For perhaps we may not
The best of physic.
Meet again to-morrow.
Come, landlord, etc.
Come, landlord, etc.
HOW STANDS THE GLASS AROUND?
THE writer and composer of this song are unknown. It appeared as a broadside in
1710. In 1729 it was produced at a little theatre in the Hay Market, London, under the title
"Why, Soldiers, why?" in " The Patron, or the Statesman's Opera." Collections made in
1775 have both words and music, and Shield introduced the song into " The Siege of Gib-
ralter." It is usually called " General Wolfe's song," and is said to have been sung by him
on the eve of the battle of Quebec. There is a story, which seems to be authentic, that as
his night expedition against the city was floating down the St. Lawrence, he repeated
several stanzas from Gray's " Elegy," and remarked that he " would rather have written
that poem than take Quebec to-morrow." It is not unlikely that this anecdote, together
with the fact that he had sometimes sung " How stands the glass around ? " was what gave
rise to the story which makes it his death-song.
Harmonized by Edward S. Cnmmingg.
n L v^urtn.ir.1 IE.. ( j t
SgEg: _i^ — J J J--^p- =* —
1. How stands the glass a - round? For shame! ye take no care, my boys; How
2. Why, sol - diers, why, Should we be mel -an- cho - ly, boys? Why,
3. 'Tis but in vain— I mean not to up -braid you, boys— 'Tis
^^= ^==j=
HOW STANDS THE GLASS AROUND?
457
nin
— 1' I— J-
g_ ... — j .
— fj
- - fs^- -| f
= 1
stands the glass a
sol - diers,
but in
• round? Let mirth and
why? Whose bus - i •
vain For sol - diers
wine
ness
to
a - bound !
'tis to die!
com - plain .
SOLO.
•F h
-__|
(J 32 r
<-? • • p • J1
• 'l* *
p r
r i* fs
— ^ •
fflv^ i —
H^ 1^ ^^f2
x-f — f • f^f !tLp —
-4 — t
— f P--^-
1* * "• & N* 1
--t- 1*—-^=$-
-^-F — I — V-^ —
— i 1
-\ — E-=g
The trurn - pets sound : — the col- ors they are fly- ing, boys — To fight, kill, or wound,
What! sigh - ing? fie! Don't fear; drink on; be jol - ly, boys I 'Tis he, you, or I!
Should next cam- paign Send us to Him who made us, boys,We're free from pain;
— — — — rj =r
— 1 — S — i — i—
-i — ~p i^-i
(qr j
— J
^^» i — p-^-j-J
* * -A-
~^sial- <gi *^ 1
oj
•*•
i— t -r
I J . « m 9
^r5r^r-^-Tg;
1 N l 1
.jr.- 5 9
/(•V U
rs a-^-p — P P-»-
j. ,
hrl
S3 1
:_J — *_^ -
— ^ — r E ^
0 • — •
^
-4= =5t*J
QUAF
ITETTE. ,
IS. 1 1 T
x 1 1
J h 1 1 .
I/ \ ™
r J K }
, r* J
SP *
« J
! II
J J f • P r
— S» | J J *
n f 0(
>d il
r ey J J
vJ ^ « • *
1 J
J » g
^ " /d' II
A£-!/
•tt* p «
m * "
°^ II
May
Cold,
But,
J
b 1 f " * *
we still be found Con - tent with our hard fate, my boys, On the
hot, wet, or dry, We're always bound to fol-low, boys,And scorn
if we re - main, A bot - tie and a kind landlady Cure all
cold ground !
to fly!
a - gain!
.. y __
\j P P
«• r • ™ P Hi
i
^2aJ2 — | —
v > r ~^
iB^fc SB
ft
E2 H
II
3 — i i p E * — L_I
f ^
5. il
FILL THE BUMPER FAIR.
"FILL the Bumper fair "is one of TOM MOORE'S "Irish Melodies." The old air to
which the words are set was called " Bob and Joan."
Delicate,
1. Fill the bum -per fair! Ev - 'ry drop we sprinkle O'er the brow of care,
2. Sa - ges can, they say, Grasp the lightning's pinions, And bring down its ray,
J M '.
A l
458
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
Smooths a -way a wrfn - kle. Wit's e - lee - trie flame, Ne'er so swift - ly pass-es,
From the starr'd do -min -ions; So we, sa - gcs, sit, And 'mid bump -ers bright'ninj
yt
/
As when thro' the frame, It shoots from brimming glass-es. r Would'st thou know what first
From the heav'n of wit, Draw down all its lightning. ' { chanced up - on that day,
CHORUS. Fill the bum- per fairl
=£:
*-*—
Made our souls in -her -it This, en- nobling thirst For wine's ce - les - tial spir -it? It)
When as bards in -form us, Prome - theus stole a - way The liv - ing fires that warm us. )
Ev • ry drop we sprin-kle O'er the brow of care Smooths a - way a wriii - kle.
~N K T— K V
The careless youth when up
To Glory's fount aspiring,
Took nor urn nor cup
To hide the pilfered fire in. —
But, oh, his joy ! when, round
The halls of heaven spying
Amongst the stars he found
A bowl of Bacchus lying.
Cho, — Fill the bumper fair !
Every drop we sprinkle,
O'er the brow of care
Smooths away a wrinkle.
Some drops were in the bowl,
Remains of last night's pleasure,
With which the sparks of soul
Mix'd their burning treasure !
Hence the goblet's shower
Hath such spells to win us —
Hence its mighty power
O'er that flame within us.
Cho. — Fill the bumper fair !
Every drop we sprinkle
O'er the brow of care
Smooths away a wrinkle.
ONE BUMPER AT PARTING.
ONE BUMPER AT PARTING.
THIS song of THOMAS MOOSE'S is set to the air of " Moll Boe in the Morning."
459
1. One bum - per at part - ingltho' ma- ny Have cir - cled the board since we met, The
2. As on - ward we jour - ney, how pleasant To pause and in - hab- it a- while, Those
3. We saw how the sun look'd in sink-ing, The wa- ters be -neath him how bright, And
=EJE E^^EEsEEEB
full - est, the sad - dest of a - ny Re - mains to be crown'd by us yet. The
few sun - ny spots, like the present, That 'mid the dull wild - der- ness emilel But
now let our fare - well of drinking, Re - sem - ble that fare - well of light. You
sweetness that pleas - ure hath in it In al - ways so slow to come forth, That
Time, like a pi - ti - less mas - ter, Cries "Onward!" and spurs tho gay hours — Ah,
saw how he fin- ished, by dart- ing His beam o'er a deep bil - low's brim — So
SEE
JEE3E E«EE^E
sel - dom, a - las, till the min - ute It dies, do we know half its worth. But
ne - ver doth Time tra - vel fast - er Than when his way lies a - mong flow'rs. But
fill np, let's shine at our part -ing, In full li -quid glo • ry, like him. And
T=£
~g~ t(g »i '. ~t I
OUB FAMILIAR SONGS.
come — may our life's hap - py measure Be all of such mp - ments made up ; They're
oh! may our life's hap -py measure Of mo -ments like this be made up; 'Twas
£3
S
1
born ou the bo - som of Pleasure, They die 'midst the tears of the cup.
born on the bo - som of Pleasure, It dies 'mid the tears of the cup.
DRINK TO ME ONLY WITH THINE EYES.
THIS song, from a poem entitled " The Forest," by Ben Jonson, the English
dramatist (1574-1637), is translated from Philostratus, a Greek poet of the second cen-
tury. The air is from MOZART, and is the same as that to which " County Guy" is sung.
J^k-fj. ?__£ B __^ 3
— • ^r ^ — ^"j — p 1 — ^ — p '
p
&&-%—* — * — * — * »-
- — * « j J g * ^— \ 0 a
3 ! : —
— . ^ —
QV o •
j x v W
^ •
i
+J
1. Drink to me on - ly
2. I sent thee late a
with thine eyos, And I will pie
ro - sy wreath, Not so much ho
T "4" ^^^^^* ~l
a- 'ring thee,
*^~ — . r-,
ik^F^ — i — ^— J y •
^
.- -£• r * •*•
_•*- •*- •*. •»
— p» — « — 1-» r_J
1 ' •? J
*^r-*^-
. r i g •— -
= 1
-••
•*
•0~: "A N * 1 S— i
«\P — m m m * 0
=**
—=: ^ — p— K— r !^ — s
<r^ =±~» . .:
». . L :
-J-11
— =3=P
1 l==j
~ m -i m ~ \ " *
Or leave a kiss with - in the cup, And I'll not ask
As giv - ing it a hope that there It could not will
fc=— * — , — , ^_r ,* / J js i : -
Svp - — , — J • o ta •» • *: * — ^ — ^-=^ —
r __y— d
The
But
i — *H
i - er'd be;
**-*.— |
p=i J-HM — *^^-^-^-3^^:-z^-*^^^
(b?-^— f— r^f — f \f - *~f --r-T-r-¥-! : f- T^-g-r^
•1 —
g y-
^-? = ( — _!>^_
--w ^ ^*
2 -j»- | I E j- -
1 JLJ:
DRINK TO ME ONLY WITH THINE EYES.
461
thirst that from the soul doth rise, Doth ask a drink di - vine,,
thou there-on did'st on - ly breathe, And sent'st it back to me,..
-*— i — ^ — s-
gg=£E
— •— -+-^— *
But might I of Love's nee - tar sip, I would not change for
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of it- self but thee.
IE^S^EE^ZE =^E =&E?Ej=^iFl^=
__*_j_s_, — 0^-1- 0^ — g -,— i — -- y^ — --*
FAREWELL! BUT WHENEVER YOU WELCOME
THE HOUR.
A SONG of THOMAS MOORE'S, set to the air of " Moll Roone."
— Ji— tia;. ±^— W
1. Farewell!— but whenev - er you welcome the hour That a - wa -kens the night-songof
2. And still on that eve - ning, when pleasure fills up To the high - est top spar - kle each
3. Let Fate do her worst, there are rel - ics oif joy, Bright dreams of the past, which she
^^^^^ _J -j -( —i -I - j — | ^-
_^_a=^_ ^ ^^^=
. j £-1 ^ ^ >^ ^
=at:
mirth in your bow'r, Then think of the friend who once wel - com'd it too And for -
heart and each cup, Wher - e'er my path lies, .be it gloom - y or bright, My
can - not de - stroy, Which come in the night -time of sor - row and care, And
462
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
- got his own griefs to be hap-py with you.
soul, hap - py friends, shall be with you that night;
bring back the fea - tures that joy used to wear.
His griefs may re - turn, not a
Shall join in your rev - els, your
Long, long be my heart with such
hope may re -main Of the few that have brighten'd his path- way of pain, But he
sports, and your wiles, And re - turn to me beaming all o'er with your smiles, Too
mem - o - ries fill'd! Like the vase in which ro -ses have once been dis - till'd — You may
tempo.
y ^ -^ — 1 — 1 — y -1^
— N g m '' »
f=** p JV C HS-
fnr **"* js * m
* 1 * '^
* J * f * 9
ra * * - * *
W ,J
* *— *
ne'er will for - get the short vi - sion that threw Its en - chant -ment a - round him, while
blept, if it tells me that, 'mid the gay cheer, Some kind voice had murmur'd, " I
break, you may shat - ter the vase, if you will, But the scent of the ro - ses will
-^— ' i-L-t— i^
-9 -i~ 3 •
« • « it — ^- m
^Y- a — = — -5- • — * * — b "i ** — =* — • — • — =1 *» • 1 1 1 it — 3 M '
S3 * #& if *-$.*-+-** •* *»*»-+ 33 3
pp
—\ ^
-* ^
i j
M.I — <
1 1 ""I
=t
1
lin - g'ring with~you.
wish he were here 1
hang round it still.
THE MEETING.
THE MEETING.
463
THOMAS MOORE wrote this song, and Byron mentions that Moore's own singing of it
at Hodgson's, one evening brought tears to the eyes of both singer and hearers.
Arranged by Edward S. Cummings.
>y n k =IK — r — \~\ — ~ — rr~
--^-g ^ .* ; — -v-
1 . And doth not a meet-ing like this make a-mends For
2. What soft-en'd re - membran-ces come o'er my heart, In
3. And thus, as in mem - o - ry's bark we shall glide To
all the long years I've been
gaz - ing on thoso we've been
vis - it the scenes of our
y^-ft-1- X^ 1 • ^ jr- ^T1 J 4 ** j-
D ^iiiiiii
ftX b h =j a sj i a ij a a — ij a — a — « a —
M • ^ =i a 1
V -J--J- -«L -J- -«••«- -J.
1/C-k K- P ^ P> ft 1"^ N i ^ i 1 \
•*- -J- -J- -J-
h ^ * =
^ J J '-^ =£=£ ' J J J J -J '— E— H =f=
wan-d'ring a - way. To see thus a - round me my youth's ear - ly friends, As
lost to so long! The sor-rows and joys, of which once they were part, Still
boy -hood a- new; Tho' oft we may see, look- ing down on the tide, The
~PTb ; • • • 1 : i : — — .
q JT'J
^ f i P
Jf\Pb r ' p [* — JB — = — -f - — -N — R — ^ — i — i / ^7—
•*• -J-
_, — 0 — * — f — —
smil - ing and kind as in that hap - py day? Tho' hap
round them like vis-ions of yes - ter - day throng. As let -
wreck of full ma - ny a hope shin - ing through — Yet still,
nu —-^ .- j £_. p
-E-- P [' y 4-
• ly o'er some of your
ters some hand hath in-
as in fan - cy, we
I
• s^\* 1-1 ! i^^^""^^^ _i _i i
J
1 PoL M*1nJ"lJ J *1 *l*1
q M •}_
\ ^•'1? (^ — — ^ — — ^ * —
r^-H? f - t . ^ i . * f : N..I
-J-
brows, as o'er mine, The snow - fall of time may be
-vis - i - bly traced, When held to the flame, will steal
point to the flow'rs That once made a gar - den of
AK, i r^"i— -T-I^I 1 1 n i r"^
JJl^^^J
steal-ing, — what then? Like
out on the sight; So
all the gay shore, De-
fnv'^ *, * m * \ * m mm
stz 44 0)5' S8 Sir
[^/^ 7 M»M« «H* H
__)_ A J -j-J
-^r *=3F -^
^ i g.
464
OUK FAMILIAR SONGS.
=A=£=£=£==f
j * J «H-?
Alps in the sun - set, thus light- ed by wine, "We'll wear the gay tinge of youth's roses a -gain,
ma - ny a feel - ing, that long snem-d effaced, The warmth of a meeting like this brings to light.
-ceived for a moment,we'll think them still ours,And breathe the fresh air of life's morning once more
And doth not a meeting like this make amends,
For all the long years I've been wandcriug away,
To see thus around me my youth's early friends,
As smiling and kind as in that happy day?
Tho' haply o'er some of your brows, as o'er mine,
The snow-fall of time may be stealing, what then?
Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine,
"We'll wear the gay tinge of youth's roses again.
What soften'd remembrances come o'er my heart
In gazing on those we've been lost to so long !
The sorrows and joys, of which once they were part,
Still round them like visions of yesterday throng.
As letters some hand hath invisibly traced,
"When held to the flame, will steal out on the sight ;
So many a feeling, that long seemed effaced,
The warmth of a meeting like this brings to light.
And thus, as in memory's bark we shall glide
To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew;
Tho' oft we may see, looking down on the tide,
The wreck of full many a hope shining through —
Yet still as in fancy we point to the flowers
That once made a garden of all the gay shore,
Deceived for a moment, we'll think them 8till ours,
And breathe the fresh air of life's morning once more.
So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most,
Is all we can have of the few we hold dear.
And oft even joy is unheeded and lost,
For want of some heart that could echo it, near.
Ah well may we hope, when this short life is gone,
To meet In some world of more permanent bliss,
For a smile and a grasp of the hand hastening on,
Is all we enjoy of each other in this.
But, come — the more rare such delights to the heart.
The more we should welcome, and bless them the
more —
They're ours when we meet — they are lost when we part,
Like birds that bring summer, and fly when 'tis o'er.
Thus circling the cup, hand in hand, ere we drink,
Let Sympathy pledge us, thro' pleasure, thro'pain,
That fast as a feeling but touches one link,
Her magic shall send it direct through the chain.
REASONS FOR DRINKING.
CAPTAIN CHARLES MORRIS, author of the following song, was born in Dorking, England,
in 1739. He served his country during the American Revolution, and afterwards entered
the Life Guards. He was a great social favorite on account of his ready wit and lively
songs. He wrote hundreds of ditties, and professed to attempt the reform of music gen-
erally heard around the convivial board. In his own language, he wrote " to discipline
anew the social bands of convivial life, to blend the sympathies of fellow-hearts, and
wreathe a sweeter, gayer garland for the brow of festivity from the divine plants of con-
cord, gratitude, friendship and love." The author had attempted the impossible ; those
"divine plants" flourish only under a purer watering. And the author found it so; for
Thackeray, in his " George the Fourth," speaking of Morris, says : " This delightful boon
companion of the prince's found 'a reason fair' to forego filling and drinking, saw the
error of his ways, gave up the bowl and chorus, and died retired and religious."
BJEAtiONS FOB DRINKING.
465
Thomas Moore said : " Assuredly, had Morris written much that at all approached the
following verse of his < Eeasons for Drinking/ few would have equalled him either in fancy
or in that lighter kind of pathos which comes, as in this instance, like a few melancholy
notes in the middle of a gay air, throwing a soft and passing shade over mirth. " Captain
Morris died at Brockhani Lodge, Dorking, in 1838. He had married the widow of Sir
William Stanhope, and after his death she published four volumes of his poems.
The music of his " Eeasons for Drinking" was composed by CHAELES DIBDIN.
Vivace.
Arranged by Edward S. Cummings.
en ask'd by plod - ding souls, And
the glow my bum - per gives, Life's
men of craft - y
pict - ure's mel - low
II M
J
tongue, What joy I take in drain- ing bowls, And tip-pling all night
made; The fad - ing light then bright - ly lives, And soft- ly sinks the
-*-
fe£
*+*-
long;
shade.
But tho' these cau - tious knaves
Some hap - pi - er tint still ris
I scorn, For
es there, With
n
once I'll not dis - dain..
ev' - ry drop I drain,.
To tell them why I
And that I think's a
sit till morn, And
rea - son fair— To
466
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
fill my glass a - gain,,
fill my glass a - gain,.
To tell them why I sit till morn, And
And that I think" s a rea - son fair, To
fill my glass
fill my glass
a - gain,
a - gain,
And
To
fill my glass a - gain,
fill my glass a - gain.
I'm often asked by plodding souls
And men of crafty tongue,
What joy I take in draining bowls
And tippling all night long.
But though these cautious knaves I scorn,
For once I'll not disdain
To tell them why I sit till morn
And fill my glass again.
'Tis by the glow my bumper gives,
Life's picture 's mellow made ;
The fading light then brightly lives,
And softly sinks the shade.
Some happier tint still rises there,
With every drop I drain,
And that I think 's a reason fair
To fill my glass again.
My Muse, too, when her wings are dry,
No frolic flights will take
But round the bowl she'll dip and fly,
Like swallows round a lake.
Then, if each nymph will have her share,
Before she'll bless her swain,
Why, that I think 's a reason fair
To fill my glass again.
In life, I've rung all changes through,
Run ev'ry pleasure down,
'Mid each extreme of folly, too,
And liv'd with half the town:
For me, there's nothing new nor rare,
Till wine deceives my brain,
And that I think 's a reason fair
To fill my glass again.
I find, too, when I stint my glass,
And sit with sober air,
I'm pros'd by some dull reasoning ass,
Who treads the path of care;
Or, harder still, am doomed to bear
• Some coxcomb's fribbling strain,
And that I'm sure 's a reason fair
To fill my glass again.
There's many a lad I knew is dead,
And many a lass grown old,
And, as the lesson strikes my head,
My weary heart grows cold :
But wine awhile drives off despair,—
Nay, bids a hope remain ; —
Why, that I think 's a reason fair
To fill my glass again.
OH, THINK NOT MY SPIRITS!
OH, THINK NOT MY SPIRITS
467
THIS is another of THOMAS MOORE'S songs, written for the " Irish Melodies." The name
of the melody is "John O'Reilly the active." Nothing like a collection of ''convivial"
songs suggests the real dreariness of all attempts to be light-hearted over the sparkling
cup or the crimson bowl. This song of Moore's brings to mind the description of one who
saw him just before his intellect began to fail. As Moore was leaving a hatter's store, he
turned eyes in which the tears were brimming to the western sky as he said : " They are
all gone, — every friend I had in the world; I am like a stranger now in a strange land."
1. Oh ! think not my spir-its are al - ways as light,
2. The thread of our life would be dark, Heav-en knows !
And as free from a pang as they
If it were not with friendship and
seem to you now; Nor ex - pect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night Will re-
love intertwiu'd; And I care not how soon I may sink to repose When these
g^_^_^Z^_j_ _j__^_
=R
/ . •* u i *
j '
f r f
r f
-»
T
•» . «» .
— — * r
^^E=r=- Q
turn with to- mor-row to bright- en my brow. No; life is a waste of
blessings shall cease to be dear to my mind. But they who have lov'd the
fc=f — r*^ — * — -**^—
-? — a2 — ?—-=*=
— 9 , s1—
-FT^
V" \/ If ' Jl
n ' m *
•
J . _l
f * f r r
r
f~^* i i1 -p
^
^
— i— _y — a
h— j — 2 1 *—
-i— -7-
__^ 2 —
468
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
"^» N-! • • •— km 0 r-* fc>3 V — S— ,
^^=p ii^--^— -L=gd __^Zp=g^ • — .i.-.iy^:?^
wea- ri -some hours Which sel - dom the rose of en -joy - ment a-dorns; And the
fond -est, the pur-est, Too of - ten have wept o'er the dream they be -lieved; And the
f
>.
--
:
— *-
(CN tf.
•-*< — g — ~"^ITZI — ^i?*"
f^^— ^x'^'~^^v=-L'' *^"
heart that is soon - est a - wake to the flow'rs
Is
al - ways the first
heart that has slumber'd in friend-ship se - cu - rest Is hap - py in - deed
to be
if t\vas
CHORUS.
touch'd by the thorns. But send round the bowl, and be hap-py a - while; — May we
nev - er deceiv'd. But send round the bowl, while a rel - ic of truth Is in
*Y— N-9-- iF^H*-9 — «
-•-T-
3*
»—»:
nev-er meet worse, in our pil - grimage here,
man or in wo - man, this pray'r shall be mine,
Than the tear that en - joy -ment may
That the sunshine of love may il -
OH, THINK NOT MY SPIRITS!
lentando.
469
$=*-
espress.
gild with a smile, And the smile that com - pas - sion can turn to a tear.
- lu - mine our youth, And the moon - light of friendship con - sole our de - cline.
J 7
-
— h-
•»
— if
_ . — .. — , —
— * —
~T~
— —
. -7
THE YEAR THAT'S AWA.
JOHN DTJNLOP, who wrote the words of the song that follows, was born in the parish
of Old Monkland, county of Lanark, Scotland, in November, 1755. He was a merchant in
Glasgow, became Lord Provost of the city, and later Collector of customs at Port Glasgow.
He wrote several volumes of poetry which he left in manuscript, and sang Scottish airs
finely. He was a man of eminent social qualities and amiable character. He died at Port
Glasgow, in October, 1820.
The title of the air is " 'Tis good to be aff wi' the old love."
1. Here's to the year that's a - wa' \
2. Here's to the sol -dier who bled —
3. Here's to the friends we can trust
We'll drink it in strong and in sma';
To the sail - or who brave -ly did fa' !
When the storms of ad - ver - si -ty blaw !
And
Their
May
here's to ilk bonnie young las - sie we lo'ed, While swift flew
fame is a - live, tho' their spir - its have fled On the wings of
they live in our gong,and be near - est our hearts, Nor de - part like
the year that's a -
the year that's a -
the year that's a •
470
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
ad lib. a tempo.
-•-* — |r— -_-^ p^ _^^-
>^* ^T^T
wa'J
wa'!
wa' !
And here's to ilk bon -nie young las - sie we
Their fame is a-live,tho' their spir-its have
May they live in our song, and be near-est our
> #
lo'ed, While
fled, On the
hearts, Nor de -
^=f=
swift flew the year that's
wings of the year that's
part like the year that's
V
POLITICAL SONGS,
I knew a very wise man that believed if a man were
wermitted to make the ballads, he need not care who
\ dould make the laws of a nation.
— Andrew Fletcher of Saltoun.
** Come, gie's a sang,'' Montgomery cried,
" And lay your disputes all aside :
What signifies for folks to chide
For what's been done before 'em?
Let Whig and Tory all agree
To drop their whig-mig-mo-rum,
To spend the night in mirth and glee,
And cheerful sing, alang wi' me,
The reel of Tullochgorura."
— John Skinntr.
POLITICAL SONGS.
TIPPECANOE AND TYLER TOO.
THE famous campaign song of " Tippecanoe and Tyler too" was written by ALEX-
ANDER COFFMAIST Ross. In the Zanesville Daily Courier, of June 7, 1873, in one of a
series of articles on " The Boys of 1825," Judge Sherwood, of Zanesville, gives the follow-
ing particulars of the origin of the song.
The great political storm that swept over the country in 1840, was one of the most
remarkable events ever known in the history of our government. The Whig campaign,
which carried Harrison, the hero of Tippecanoe, and Tyler into the presidential chairs, began
as early as February. Business generally was at a stand-still ; the currency was in such a
confused state that specie to pay postage was almost beyond reach ; banks had been in a
state of supension for a long time ; mechanics and laboring men were out of employment
or working for 62 £, 75, or 87 £ cents a day, payable in "orders on the store"; market
money could be obtained with difficulty, and things generally had reached so low an ebb
as to make any change seem desirable. As the Whigs promised " two dollars a day and
roast beef" to laborers, working men were inclined to trust them.
On the 22d of February, Columbus was filled with a mighty throng of people. The
rain came down in torrents, the streets were one vast sheet of mud, but the crowds paid
no heed to the elements. A full-rigged ship on wheels, canoes, log-cabins, with inmates
feasting on corn-pone and hard cider, miniature forts, flags, banners, drums and fifes, bands
of music, live coons, roosters crowing, and shouting men by the ten thousand, made a
scene of attraction, confusion, and excitement such as has never been equalled. Stands
were erected, and orators went to work; but the staid party-leaders failed to hit the key-
note. Itinerant speakers mounted store-boxes, and blazed away. It was made known
that the Cleveland delegation, on their route to the city, had bad the wheels stolen from
some of their wagons by Loco-focos, and were compelled to continue their journey on foot.
One of these enforced foot-passengers was something of a poet, and wrote a song descrip-
tive of " up Salt Kiver," and was encored over and over again. On the spur of the moment,
many songs were written and sung, the pent-up enthusiasm had found vent; but the
song of the campaign had not yet been written. On the return of our delegation, a
Tippecanoe club was formed, and a glee club organized,of whom Ross was one. The clu
meetings were opened and closed with singing by the glee club. Billy McKibbon wro
"Amos peddling yokes," to be sung to the tune of "Yip, fal, lal," which proved very
474 °UR FAMILIAR SONGS.
popular ; he also composed " Hard Times," and " Martin's Lament." Those who figured in
that day will remember the chorus :
" Oh, dear! what will become of me?
Oh, dear! what shall I do?
I am certainly doomed to be beaten
By the heroes of Tippecanoe."
This song was well received, but there seemed something lacking. The wild outburst
of feeling demanded by the meetings had not yet been provided for. Tom Launder sug-
gested to Ross that the tune of " Little Pigs " would furnish a chorus just adapted for the
meetings. Eoss seized upon the suggestion, and on the succeeding Sunday, while he was
singing as a member of a church choir, his head was full of " Little Pigs," and efforts to
make a song fitting the time and the circumstances. Oblivious to all else he had, before the
sermon was finished, blocked out the song of " Tippecanoe and Tyler too." The line, as
originally composed by him, of
" Van, Van, you're a nice little man,"
did not suit him, and when Saturday night came round he was cudgelling his brains tx>
amend it. He was absent from the meeting, and was sent for. He came, and informed
the glee club that he had a new song to sing, but that there was one line in it he did not
like, and that his delay was occasioned by the desire to correct it.
" Let me hear the line," said Culbertson. Ross repeated it to him.
"Thunder!" said he, "make it — Van's a used-up man I" — and there and then the
song was completed.
'The meeting in the Court House was a monster, the old Senate Chamber was crowded
full to hear McKibbon's new song " Martin's Lament," which was loudly applauded and
encored. When the first speech was over, Ross led off with " Tippecanoe and Tyler too,"
having furnished each member of the glee club with the chorus. That was the song at
last. Cheers, yells, and encores greeted it. The next day, men and boys were singing the
chorus in the street, in the work-shops, and at the table. Olcot White came near to start-
ing a hymn to the tune in the radical church on South street. What the Marseilles Hymn
was to Frenchmen, "Tippecanoe and Tyler too" was to the Whigs of 1840.
In September, Mr. Ross went to New York City to purchase goods. He attended a
meeting in Lafayette Hall. Prentiss of Mississippi, Tallmadge of New York, and Otis of
Boston were to speak. Ross found the hall full of enthusiastic people, and was compelled
to stand near the entrance. The speakers had not arrived, and several songs were sung to
keep the crowd together. The stock of songs was soon exhausted, and the chairman
(Charley Delavan, I think) arose and requested any one present who could sing, to come
forward and do so. Ross said, " If I could get on the stand, I would sing a song," and
hardly had the words out, before he found himself passing rapidly over the heads of the
crowd, to be landed at length on the platform. Questions of " Who are you?" "What's
your name?" came from every hand.
"I am a Buckeye from the Buckeye State," was the answer. "Three cheers for the
Buckeye State !" cried out the president, and they were given with a will. Ross requested
the meeting to keep quiet until he had sung three or four verses, and it did. But the
enthusiasm swelled up to an uncontrollable pitch, and at last the whole meeting joined in
the chorus, with a vim and vigor indescribable. The song was encored and sung again
and again, but the same verses were not repeated, as he had many in mind, and could
make them to suit the occasion. While he was singing in response to the third encore,,
the speakers Otis and Tallmadge arrived, and Ross improvised :
" We'll now stop singing, for Tallmadge is here, here, here,
And Otis too,
We'll have a speech from each of them,
For Tippecanoe and Tyler, etc.''
T1PPECANOE AND TYLER TOO.
475
He took his seat amid thundering applause, and three times three for the buckeye State
After the meeting was over, the crowds in the streets, in the saloons, everywhere, were
singing " Tippecanoe and Tyler too." It traversed the Union, and was the most popular
song of that song-singing campaign.
Mr. Ross was born in Zanesville, 0., May 31, 1812, and resided there all his life.
He was early noted for his interest in scientific inventions, and is said to have produced
the first daguerreotype ever taken in America. He became a leading and enterprising
business man in his native place, and died there February 25, 1883.
u. AIR.
i?k# — ft — fr ~d — jM K *—
f5— 1— - 1^ | IS 1
J ' ' *=
1. Oh! what has caused this great com- mo- tion, -mo- tion, -mo- tion,
Our conn - try
-a-: — Sf f —
2. Like the working of might - y wa - ters, wa- ters, wa- ters,
fe^M fi 0 N f— — fv 1 N— * 1 £ P h — f—
T^T U
On it will
-£-= 1 K-
^tf 8 r — * — -M — * — -• — *— -
i Q8. < 1 ,— i — 1 S 1 1 c—
J J
J 0 /_
ftjk tt J . x C | J J J -M ' £
i — r r C r r — r
rrr r ^
* ^ V * * I b-
• h^ U 1
through? It is the ball that's roll - ing on, For Tip- pe-ca- noe and
IX
Ty-ler too, For
m 1 — H -h— -17- H '—
r E i E i* E r y
Frf r r J1
go ; And in its course will clear the w
(£)%/ (• • ~ 0 1 N — 1 TV 1 h~
ay For Tip- pe-ca- noe and
-fv~ -0000 0
•^ IX I
Ty- ler too, For
' I* (• ' ~
^ » | ix -* *— J *--* *—
r-v- C C C i-=fc
* a • w— f3 ^
r C r C
"^ — lEi — 5r
fcl — £ — ^ — _ — p *-~fJ !±=bz:— b>_^ — v — |P — = — « — 0-
Tip-pe- ca-noe and Ty - ler too, And with them we'll beat lit - tie
^-*^=*=*=^= ^h—r — "- -^^^•=^f
Van, Van,
Tip-pe- ca-noe and Ty - ler too, And with them we'll beat lit - tie
fr")3f,.ff — a a a a a a 9 a a — »: j* j*~
-r ~t
Van, Van,
1 J ** J n!
^H? r c r=c= T i r r ^^^^a^fc
^¥=- ^^ — ^=-^^=^ * * 0 j t1
,M J. x II
B± * V--I-* -^- • i_ j ; •
Van, Van, oh ! he's a used - up man,
\f ftjf ^ = — a a -x — S0 • *— —
-4— Hb=^-ix— —
And with them we'll beat lit -
-y^--"— ^*-f— y
-^-i y> ~ ii
tie Van.
- , \ f . K n
fly * ' i ' — f- =f- f! T ^
Van, Van, oh I he's a used - up man,
— P ^ — K — •« — x — f-
And with them we'll beat lit •
0 • -$ f f
-f~-f — *=«
tie Van.
^=|H^-H
L^_# ^ -' y 0 0
- [^ ft—
-fr-r *.• 1
476
See the
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
tottering, tottering
Loco's standard
tottering,
Down it must go,
And in its place we'll rear the flag,
Of Tippecanoe and Tyler too, etc.
The Bay State boys turned out in thousands,
thousands, thousands,
Not long ago,
And at Bunker Hill, they set their seals
For Tippecanoe and Tyler too, etc.
Now you hear the Vanjacks talking, talking,
talking,
Things look quite blue,
For all the world seems turning round
For Tippecanoe and Tyler too, etc.
Let them talk about hard cider, cider, cider,
And Log Cabins too,
It will only help to speed the ball,
For Tippecanoe and Tyler too, etc.
His latchstring hangs outside the door, door,
door,
And is never pulled in,
For it always was the custom of
Old Tippecanoe and Tyler too, etc.
He always has his table set, set, set,
For all honest and true,
To ask you in to take a bite,
With Tippecanoe and Tyler too, etc.
See the spoilsmen and leg treasurers, treasurers,,
treasurers,
All in a stew,
For well they know they stand no chance
With Tippecanoe and Tyler too, etc.
Little Matty's days are numbered, numbered,
numbered,
And out he must go,
For in his place we'll put the good
Old Tippecanoe and Tyler too,
JOHN BROWN'S BODY.
I HAVE been able to obtain but meagre information about the famous refrain which
became the marching song of the nation. The stern, almost religious enthusiasm of the
words blended with the stirring tread of the music, and suited *well the spirit in which
Patriotism went forth to meet its foes. The words, except the first stanza, were written by
CHARLES S. HALL, of Charlestown, Mass. Thane Miller, of Cincinnati, heard the
melody in a colored Presbyterian church in Charleston, S. C., about 1859, and soon after
introduced it at a convention of the Y. M. C. A. in Albany N. Y., with the words,
" Say, brothers, will you meet us? "
JAMES E. GEEENLEAF, organist of the Harvard Church in Charlestown, found the music
in the archives of that church, and fitted to it the first stanza of the present song. This
became so great a favorite with the Glee Club of the Boston Light Infantry, in 1861,
that they asked Mr. HALL to write additional stanzas. The Pall Mall Gazette of October
14, 1865, said: "The street boys of London have decided in favor of 'John Brown's
Body, ' against 'My Maryland,' and 'The Bonnie Blue Flag.' The somewhat lugubrious
refrain has excited their admiration to a wonderful degree, and threatens to extinguish
that hard-worked, exquisite effort of modern minstrelsy, 'Slap Bang.'*
By special permission of Messrs. OLIVER DITSON & Co.
r!L b / * i
— I — i
^ —
^^ — — \ : 1 —
~f^ f, f~^~
m
P^«
-4M
&- *' J
-J —
^r— =* £> J^ f U—
— 5 tt C
=g=
B
— H
1. John
2. The
-9-b— ~T-
Brown's bo - dy lies a mould- 'ring in
stars of hea - ven are look - ing kind -
the
ly
grave,
down,
fL\) i* *i
—
—
— I—
—
f--|-'±- £ J J 4
|r
•%* K
i ' '
— |
t.y^ / ii «•
^- n \ 2
— * —
— •
g 0
— * — — * — --t
-
— * —
— I
JOHX BtfOWN'S BODY.
John Brown's bo - dy lies a mould'ring in the grave,
The stars of hea-ven are look-ing kind- ly down,
John Brown's bo - dy lies a
The stars of hea-ven are
$= i
f
4 4
mould' ring in the grave,
look - ing kind - ly down,
His soul-.
On the grave.
is march - ing on!
of old John Brown!
CHORUS.
5
5
Glo - ry, glo-ryhal-le - la - jah! Glo - ry, glo - ry, glo - ry hal - le - Ju - jah!
- - *^
He's gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord .
He's gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lon
He's gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lore
His soul is marching on.
Cho.— Glory, etc.
His soul is marching on.
His soul
,._Glory,
478
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
The following words were written by HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL, who died at Hartford,
Conn., October 31, 1872, aged fifty-two. Mr. Brownell entitled his poem, "Words that can
be sung to the ' Hallelujah chorus/" and says , " If people will sing about Old John Brown,
there is no reason why they shouldn't have words with a little meaning and ryhthm in
them."
Old John Brown lies a-mouldering in the grave,
Old John Brown lies slumbering in his grave —
But John Brown's soul is marching with the brave,
His soul is marching on.
Glory, glory, hallelujah !
Glory, glory, hallelujah !
Glory, glory, hallelujah !
His soul is marching on.
He has gone to be a soldier in the Army of the Lord,
He is sworn as a private in the ranks of the Lord —
He shall stand at Armageddon with his brave old sword,
When Heaven is marching on.
Glory, etc.
For Heaven is marching on.
He shall file in front where the lines of battle form —
He shall face to front when the squares of battle form —
Time with the column, and charge with the storm,
Where men are marching on.
Glory, etc.
True men are marching on.
Ah, foul tyrants ! do ye hear him where he comes?
Ah, black traitors! do ye know him as he comes?
In thunder of the cannon and roll of the drums,
As we go marching on.
Glory, etc.
We all are marching on.
Men may die, and moulder in the dust —
Men may die, and arise again from dust,
Shoulder to shoulder, in the ranks of the Just,
When Heaven is marching on.
Glory, etc.
The Lord is marching on.
MARYLAND, MY MARYLAND.
JAMES EYDER KANDALL, author of the words of " Maryland, my Maryland," was born
in Baltimore, on New Year's day, 1839. He was educated at Georgetown College, District
of Columbia, and when qmte young went to Louisiana and edited a newspaper at Point
Coup6e. From there he went to New Orleans, where he was engaged upon The Sunday
Delta, and in April, 1861, he wrote his song, "Maryland, my Maryland." At the close of
the war he became editor of The Constitutionalist, published at Augusta, Georgia.
"Maryland, my Maryland," first published in Baltimore, was set to the fine German
Burschenlied which begins :
O Taunenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Wie griin sind deine Blatter I —
Longfellow's translation of which, " 0 hemlock tree," etc., is well known. "My Maryland*
became the finest battle-song of the Southern Confederacy during the war.
£-=.
_~N N ~, • — 1 r S f^ 1
.' m. 1 JB.A.K 1L.AND I
— r~f* *~ 1 — * * •
— m —
479
s 1
J 0 1 f w i —
*
;-e ^_|_J 0 ,
—7 — *-
_ 1
1. The des -pot's heel is on thy shore,
2. Hark! to a wan-d'ring son's ap - peal,
3. Thou wilt not cow - er in the dust,
Ma - ry - land ! My Ma - ry - land ! His
Ma - ry - land! My Ma - ry - land! My
Ma - ry - land ! My Ma - ry - land ! Thy
0tt ,- i
-1
-4— H [ I
-i— E5 E
p-) — | 1 1
*J
0 ^
-Ifbz— | J-
-r — j— i-
j — J —
-J 4 A_
-* 0 0
4 I
-* 4 i
4_ZJ
_| 4 i
r
* A *"
i £
btT — r EC 1
3—
3=5 — Z —
9
—
=^_T
"• g
$fc — « • « « —
torch is at thy
Moth -er - State, to
beam-ing sword shall
tern - pie door,
thee I kneel,
nev - er rust,
4^L_^ — r — ^_
Ma - ry - land! My
Ma - ry - land! My
Ma - ry - laud! My
--t 1 £
* ^ — d
Ma - ry - land I A. -
Ma - ry - land ! For
Ma - ry - land! Re-
-9 "=f~~?
P =5- i
*
r~. f~
e — -^_^j
L_«^ ~j| ^ 1
L u J * i
J
OT-1- -i- -
« 4 4
~* ? \
j
P---J ! ?-
« J
t 1 ~ *
i_ , *
n| A
h
jfa-~- — * 1 —
-f 1
* T f"
If 5= =P
-r — r — f — r-
: ^ 1
^< 1 1
venge the pat - ri - ot - ic gore
life and death, for woe and weal,
meni-ber Car- rol's sa - cred trust,
That fleck'd the streets of Bal - ti - more, And
Thy peer - less chiv - al - ry re - veal, And
Re - mem - ber How - ard's war - like thrust, And
r — s — K r p
=H^ | J
be the bat - tie queen of yore,
gird thy beau - teous limbs with steel,
all thy slum - berers with the just,
itf-| = =3— H F=fc=
Ma - ry - land! My Ma -
Ma - ry - land! My Ma -
Ma - ry - land ! My Ma -
ry • land!
ry • land!
ry - land!
I r-pl— — J ^
** "*
J^
j— -^ ij -4S~ 3 -
J- "^
— *—
480
OUlt FAMILIAR SONGS.
CHORUS.
1
sb:3=i
r
An
:5:
d be the bat - tie queen of yore, My Ma - ry - land ! My Ma - ry - land !
/TN
> - » - ir
r=j==£
cres.
1
ff dim.
1
e rail.
Come, 'tis the red dawn of the day,
Come with thy panoplied array,
Maryland !
Maryland !
With Ringgold's spirit for the fray,
With Watson's blood at Monterey,
With fearless Lowe and dashing May,
Maryland ! My Maryland !
Dear Mother ! burst the tyrant's chain,
Virginia should not call in vain,
Maryland !
Maryland !
She meets her sisters on the plain ;
" Sic semper," 'tis the proud refrain
That baffles minions back amain,
Maryland ! My Maryland !
Come, for thy shield is bright and strong,
Maryland !
Come, for thy dalliance does thee wrong,
Maryland !
Come to thine own heroic throng,
That stalks with liberty along,
And give a new key to thy song,
Maryland ! My Maryland !
I see the blush upon thy cheek,
Maryland !
But thou wast ever bravely meek,
Maryland !
But lo ! there surges forth a shriek
From hill to hill, from creek to creek —
Potomac calls to Chesapeake,
Maryland ! My Maryland !
Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll,
Maryland !
Thou wilt not crook to his control,
Maryland!
Better the fire upon thee roll,
Better the shot, the blade, the bowl,
Than crucifixion of the soul,
Maryland ! My Maryland !
I hear the distant thunder hum,
Maryland !
The Old Line's bugle, fife, and drum,
Maryland !
She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb,
Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum!
She breathes — she burns! she'll come ! she'll comef
Maryland ! My Maryland !
WAKE NICODEMUS.
BOTH author and composer of many well-known songs is HENRY C. WORK, maker of
this one. " Grafted into the army," " Kingdom coming." and " Marching through Georgia,"
are among the lyrics which patriotism called forth from him during the civil war, while
"My Grandfather's Clock" is a later production whose immense popularity is shown by
the fact that a year ago the royalty paid him on it had reached four thousand dollars.
WAKE NICODEMUS
481
Mr Work was born in Middletown, Connecticut, October 1st, 1832 The fan
Scottish origin, and the name is thought to have come from a castle- ^ w J
new alphabet. Only the difficulty of obtaining
rer h, n , - ' oa, and on his
return he invested his then considerable fortune in the fruit-growing enterprise in Vineland
veaTsh?le^aifth rC!al aDd d°meStiC misfortunes overwhelmed him, and for several
aft all the familiar scenes and associations, after which he returned to New York
city where m 1875 he connected himself, as composer, with Mr. Cady of the former firm of
Boot and Cady, music publishers, who had held the copyrights of all his songs, and had
them with their other property in the great fire in Chicago. Mr. Cady was reestab-
ishing business in New York, and brought out in quick succession songs of Mr. Work's
which have had large sales. The song-writer also became a somewhat successful inven-'
tor, and a patented knitting-machine, a walking doll, and a rotary engine are among hia
achievements. He died in Hartford, Conn., June 8, 1884.
1. Nic - o - de - mus, the slave, was of Af
2. He was known as a proph - et— at least
3. N"ic - o - de - mus, was nev - er the sport
4. 'Twas a long wea - ry night— we were al
ri - can birth, And was
was as wise— For he
of the lash, Though the
- most in fear That the
ifc irp~~i ~
P=> 3^= —J— ~Z~
— * q . —
1 -I
*s
pv»#~tt i
>=- | p 1
* — * '
t=4
— <y »
-*=-'
. i , ... 3
5-
bought for a bag - ful of gold;
told of the bat - tie to comes;
bul - let has oft cross'd his path;
fu - ture was more than he knew;
He was reck - on'd as part of the
And we trem - bled with dread when he
There were none of his mas - tera so
'Twas a long wea - ry night— but the
ST £ : £ — ^i
-i — I 1
=£ ' — ~l~
SF -4— — £=:
•*• -*•
^-V-ji-jt 1 4 ' 1
_-1 1
* J
-&-?—
•*i — -. •>
(31)
482
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
U #Lr> ~p ? • . * l ^ N ! NT — " — 1
~jr~ "Q — — -fr — y — S — — K s-(- — •=
salt of the earth, But he died years a - go, ver - y old. 'Twas his
roll'd up his eyes, And we heed - ed the shake of his thumb. Tho' he
brave or so rash As to face such a man in his wrath. Yet his
morn - ing is near, And the words of our proph - et are true. There are
0-&J
3t«p— * . . .i , A , LA
*)$$ -*- —
-\ 4 _, J -l—i. _A__ _
^r I'll ^ _. , »
^1 es •
1 1 \ J ~ '
r£4# — \- -T — -^
[ f
1* 1
last sad re - quest — so we
clothed us with fear, yet the
great heart with kind - ness was
signs in the sky that the
* * •
laid him
gar - ments
fill'd to
dark - ness
1 — i '
a • way In the
he wore Were in
the brim — He o -
is gone — There are
J :
^ •+•+-*
*
$ J
— z%~. —
i _
m
s^^s
'-* \==0—
trunk of an old hoi - low tree.
patch - es at el - bow and knee;
beyedwho was born to com-mand;
to - kens in end - less ar- ray;
"Wake me up!" was his charge, "at the
And he still wears the suit that he
But he long'd for the morn - ing which
While the storm which had seem - ing - ly
r/n TI * -j - f
_» — 0 — 0 — —0
A . A i
^ — — I* 10 0 i * 0 0 • j—
•» •*• -r •* ^ ~t
^ 1 J n s . —
p^^-— i ^__
^~- 1
— i 1 • tn
*' ""S3
first break of day— Wake me up for the great ju - bi - lee I"
used to of yore, As he sleeps in the old hoi - low tree.
then was so dim — For the morn - ing which now is at hand.
ban - ished the dawn, On - ly hast - ens the ad - vent of day.
2-
WAKE NICODEMUS.
CHORUS.
483
:* guzfcz^g
H^
-JUt,
^
The GOOD TIME COMING I, a] - most here! It «as long, long, long on the
?*3P
3 * *
(yLf_j ij -
| — JS K K— J$— 9 9 9 S s — -* -p P -,
way ! Now
— * 4 i -1 1 1 1 ' 9 A fj *Z=~~^~
1 * — *— • 0 — 0 — -J- — -^ — -4 0 0 —
run and tell E - li - jah to hnr- ry up Pomp, And
/^ A «^ £ r r r & & s / /
=&-£— — i— J — "-— ' — ^r-^~ * — 5 — 1 — -
1
1 — :- — t- •! ^ — -£ « — « 4 « i •! ^
C b ^
aJ'
E ? -t\ .. 4. . "•*. . .^ * ,.*; ^ • |
-^i.
• g^ .->{-• •• • • • — ' - •
.^ — *
meet us at the gum-lree down in the swamp, To wake Nic - o-de- mus to-day.
i
_£ — .._*-
^ zz^n
9 — 9— 9.
ffl
f
1
434 OUB FAMILIAR SONG 8.
WHA'LL BE KING BUT CHARLIE?
CAROLINA OLIPHANT was born in Gask, Perthshire, Scotland, July 16, 1766. She was
descended from an old and noble family, of strong Jacobite proclivities, and their third
daughter was named Carolina, as one more tribute of loyalty to • " Charlie over the
Water." She is described as delicate, graceful, accomplished, the " pretty Miss Car" of the
school-room, and the " Flower of Strathearn" in young womanhood. She began very early
to write rhymes in secret for her favorite melodies. Once, on the fair-ground, she ordered
the coachman to get for her one of the pamphlets which she saw circulating. It was a
collection of the coarse songs of the time ; and from that day she resolved to use her love
for songs and her power to make them, in purifying those already in existence. She
re-wrote one called " The Ploughman," which was sung with fine effect at a dinner given
by her brother to the Gask tenantry, and it was rolled out by the whole country side with
no suspicion that the young Laird's sister was the author. She was a favorite with high and
low, and was exceedingly gay and pleasure-loving. Her hand was sought by many suitors,
but had been early pledged to Captaine NAIRNE, her cousin. The Jacobite zeal of his
family had stripped him of his estates, and he was obliged to wait for promotion before his
income allowed them to marry. When he was almost fifty, and she was forty-one, Captain
Nairne became a Major, and they were married and removed to Carolina cottage in Edin-
burgh, where they spent twenty-four happy years, in the course of which Major Nairne \vas
restored to his rank in the peerage. The idol of their home was an only son. Long befory
her marriage, Lady Nairne had become deeply and joyously religious, and much of her
income was spent in charity. After the death of her husband, she writes :
" His staff's at the wa%
Toom, toom is his chair!
His barmet an' a' Qh j to meet him
An' 1 maun be here! Where heartg ne,er were
But oh ! he's at rest,
Why s'ud I complain?
'Gin my soul be blest,
I'll meet him again,
Oh ! to meet him again,
To part never mair !
Mr. Purdie, a bookseller of Edinburgh, planned a collection of the best songs of Scot-
land, and engaged R. A. Smith to edit them. A lady friend who knew of Lady Nairne's
writings, begged her to contribute, and she promised to do so under a pledge of strict
secrecy. Her contributions were signed " B. B.," and the friend whispered in Mr. Purdie's
ear that the author was " Mrs. Bogan of Bogan." The numerous issues of the collection
ran through three years, and dressed in a well-designed disguise, Lady Nairne had many
talks with Mr. Purdie. As one reason for wishing concealment, she writes : " I beg the
publisher will make no mention of a lady ; as you observe, the more mystery the better,
and still the balance is in favor of the lords of creation. I cannot help in some degree
undervaluing beforehand what is said to be a feminine production." After the death of her
husband, Lady Nairne travelled in search of health for her delicate son, who, however, died
at the age of twenty-one. She spent several years abroad, and returned to her old home
at Gask but two years before her death, which took place there, October 26, 1845. During
her later years she wrote some of her sweetest lyrics. The one which begins :
Would you be young again f
So would not I —
One tear to memory given,
Onward I hie.
Life's dark flood forded o'er,
All but at rest on shore,
Say, would you plunpre once more,
Withhomr- *•• nieh?
WHA'LL BE KING BUT CHASLIEf 435
was written in her seventy-sixth year. Another closes with these lines :
Where souls angelic soar,
Thither repair;
Let this vain world no more
Lull and ensnare.
That heaven I love so well
Still in my heart shall dwell ;
All things around me tell
Rest is found there.
The air of " Wha'll be king but Charlie ? " is found in an old collection called "Airs and
melodies peculiar to the Highlands."
rjM> fi |_J_-Jr-j — -T-m F— 5 r-J -*— J p^ —^
o' mue news frae Moi - dart cam' yes-treen, Will soon gar mo - ny fer - lie; For
2. The High- land clans wi' sword in hand, Frae John o' Groat's to Air - lie, Hae
6. Ine Low- lands a' baith great and sma', Wi' mo- ny a lord and laird, hae De-
fk-J — M — iv — * — J — 4 — * — f f- 0 • •" — * — *""= —
H- 4i 5_ w 9 m j
^Y- — £2 — j — i \/ i \ [ j
fj
gn, « ,i p p p p i p M=p=
_ T • * [ ^— ;
M>— #— L- J U— j V- -i *_| i-
' ^~^r — * — r — ^ —
|p -f- =£ f -^ ' V J*- -^-^ *-
ships o' war hae just come in, And land - ed Roy - al Char - lie ! )
to a man de - clared to stand, Or fall wi' Roy - al Char - lie I > Come
clared for Scot - land's king and law, An' spier ye, wha but Char • lie? J
My . =H«=?-=H -f — F — M
^~ ^*T1 -^1
1 KB- f f ' —v—' '
— * — * ^ f-4-1 — 0—
V *
) *<t& &??***
as- u p 9 9 9 f
S^r — h b T b ^ •
r r * r * r
\^«::t' F V 1 ^ — >*
~> "^ ^^J L . —
- 1 v
7$^ — J — h — f* — r^~ir~i — v — T^ — r^~
— J — h h r r, -i — r-f-
g^ J J J j -? J J J j
through the heath-er, a - round him gath- er, Ye're
*40^..0J
a' the wel- com - er ear - ly ; A-
j f f f m p • • f
^;^T — '» '* — • — » -• H* — • — ~*~
^ r \ r c'r c r -T'r t r g'^^^^
y^r ^£=J= ^ f ' c ~* ^Qj'l^-^-J ^
round him cling wi' a' your kin, For wha'll be king but Char - lie? Come
/te6 f f ' i^TT~ r V" r 1 J — * — *"— ' ' ' — ^
pEEpSje
^)* (7- • »- p- p 5 » » 1 —
: • — 0-^—^-0^^-
!s«4> — , L p. u » ,»_ _ x_
1 U 1 V ~ b
— ^*^W^
486
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
s
through the heath-er, a - round him gath- er, Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegith-er,And
IP
m
Ut^-f -g— ^^
=p
&-^=^
_^
-1
H_
i-
sp F — 1 — i J
crown your right - fu',
f) L, C
k | K
law - fu' king; For
1^
wha'll bti kinj
\ but
Cl
iar - li<
' II
3?
jfefi «
f m m
fs P^l
^ —
|
X h « i* r y
r P r
J 1
frfs" » r - *
1 L r L
mm
1
HZ U '
V \ V
1
tr~
p i* i* i*
0 0 m m
0
P
^^
/i^« n i r i '
t \ » m
r i* (•
» •
' n
€^— > — i — r — r-
-+ E
4 — £ — F-
F— f-
— H
There's ne'er a lass in a' the land
But vows baith late and early,
To man she'll ne'er gie heart or hand
Who wadna fight for Charlie.
Come through, etc.
Then here's a health to Charlie's cause,
And be't complete and early;
His very name my heart's blood warms -
To arms for Royal Charlie !
Come through, etc.
CHARLIE IS MY DARLING.
SETEBAL Scottish poets have rung the changes upon both the air and words of
" Charlie is my darling." Burns has a version, Hogg a version, Captain Charles Grey a
version, and there are still others of less celebrity. But the words most in use were writ-
ten by the BARONESS NAIRNE, although her authorship was not then known, and stanzas
from the other versions were generally mingled with hers. I give her version entire.
The song is, of course, a Jacobite effusion, and Lady Nairne's family were Jacobites of the
Jacobites, nearly all the kith and kin having been in trouble or exile on that account. A
lock of Prince Charlie's hair, his bonnet, spurs, cockades, and crucifix, were cherished
relics among them. The " Auld Laird," Lady Nairne's father, refused to acknowledge King
George, and dismissed the family chaplain for taking the oath of fealty to him after the
death of Charles Edward. The King who had graciously allowed him to return and spend
his age in his old homo, sent this message to his obstinate subject : " The Elector of
Hanover's compliments to the Laird of Gask, and wishes to tell him how much the Elector
respects the Laird for the steadiness of his principles."
In his " Forty Years' Recollections," Charles Mackay, the song-writer, relates the
followng anecdote of his childhood: "Grace Threlkeld, or as her husband always
called her, < Girzie,' taught me the alphabet, together with the tunes of many scores —
I may say hundreds — of Scotch songs which she was fond of singing. Among the
rest was the old Jacobite song of "Charlie is my darling, the young Chevalier." I
imagined at the time that this was a song about myself, and that I was the veritable
young Chevalier. I well remember my astonishment, when I was about six years old,
at hearing a blackbird, whose cage hung from a window in Powis Street, Woolwich,
CHARLIE IS MY DARLING.
487
pipe this tune very correctly as I passed along with u playmate. I looked at the
bird with infantine bewilderment, thinking that the creature was, as the Scotch say, ' no
Connie/ and that the foul fiend himself had taken up his abode in his tiny throat. The
good Girzie laughed at my terror, but it was many weeks before I was quite reconciled
to the possession of musical abilities by so small a creature, or quite satisfied that it had
not formed a deliberate purpose by whistling that particular song, to turn me into ridicule."
=y PI
1. Oh ! Char- lie is my dar - ling, My dar- ling,
i
Char-lie is my dar- ling, The
^m
P*
1
ti i
s
£
p- •
£±
— v — 1< — ^
young Che-va-lier.
fl. 'Twa
. ^ 2. As
(3. Wi'
Twas on a Mon- day morn - ing, Right ear-ly in the year, When
he cam' march-in' up the street, The pipes play 'd loud and clear ; And
Hie-land bon - nets on their heads, And claymores bright and clear, They
k
Char - lie came to our town. The voung Chev-a-lier. ]
a' the folk cam' rinnin' out To meet the Chev- a - Her. \
cam' to fight for Scotland's right ,And the young Chev - a - Her. J
Oh ! Char-lie is my dar - ling, my
^
They've left their bonnie Hieland hills,
Their wives and bairnies dear,
To draw the sword for Scotland's lord,
The young Chevalier.
Oh ! Charlie, etc.
Oh ! there were mony beating hearts,
And mony a hope and fear ;
And mony were the prayers put up
For the young Chevalier.
Oh ! Charlie, etc.
488
OUK FAMILIAR SONGS.
WHAT'S A' THE STEER, KIMMER?
THE origin of this Jacobite song is unknown. It appeared about 1745, and was first
made familiar to Amercan ears in the Scottish concerts of the Misses Gumming, about 1850.
Of course the first line, divested of its dialect form, would read : " What's all the stir,
comer " (stranger) ?
Allegro.
bfc*p — T>_|_L-i_^ fc | j» 0f foi \ ^ £_:} i ^ \Lf '^iz
* » 1
1. "What's a' the steer, kimmer, What's a' the steer? " Charlie he is land- ed, And
2. I'm right glad to hear't, kimmer ,I'm right glad tohear't;! hae a guile braid claymore, And
*••<«. •*.*. *- +. *.+.*. +.
-t^r
£=£—=,
rj;ff^w — B 0—
P — — *. — . —
• -1 — — I- • r-- f- •- . l . -j- .- (H
1
WT***^* I
?* ^ ]
f \J t £ *l & ith.
-^-^-
R^ i/ i i * 0 i \ -^ 0
faith he'll soon be here; The win' was at his back,
for his sake I'll wear't; Sin' Char - lie, he is land -
Carle, The
ed, We
•ft. JL *. +. JL * JL
^g ^ "fe : — - J« — — P
-£ q
>L!i — i 1 * f 1 1 i
_j — =q
win' was at his back,
ha'e naemair to fear,
I care - na, sin' he's come. Carle, We were na worth a plack.
Sin Char -lie he is come, kimmer, We'll ha'e a jub - 'lee year.
f t
WEARING OF THE GREEN.
OF the many songs which have been written with this title and sentiment, this one by
DION BOUCICAULT is best known in this country. It is the song of " Shaun the Post," in
the play of " Arrah na Pogue." There was an old revolutionary street ballad in Ireland,
in which a conversation was imagined between Bonaparte and an Irishman. Bonaparte
inquires,
And how is ould Ireland, and how does she stand?
and the reply is,
"Tis a poor distressed coun-the-ry, oh. poor I-ar-land !
THE WEARING OF THE GREEN.
489
=:£=^Fi£z=
~9 — *-lr»-— *_
1 'u
N
-T -- S
1
0—
1. Oil ! Pad - dy, dear, and did you hear the news that's go - in' round, The
2. Then since the col - or we must wear, is Eng - laud's cru - el red, Sure
3. But if at last our col - or should be torn from Ire - land's heart, Her
-: -2-
-
\
*—
Sham -rock is for - bid by law to grow on I - rish ground ; Saint
Ire - land's sons will ne'er for - get, the blood that they have shed; You may
sons with shame and sor - row from the dear old soil will part"; I've heard
1 1 1
^-Tj
*/
•
1
ixtj —
*—
— P-
2
.]
— * *- —
«/
Pat-
take
whis -
rick's day
the Sham -
per of
no
rock
a
— i —
more we'll
from your
coun - try
^^^
— i —
keep,
hat,
that
' _j
His
and
lies
col -
cast
far
or
it
be
— i-
— 0 —
can't
on
- yant
be seen,
the sod,
the say,
For
But
Where
& >Z__«j e f. i. —
— 4 —M —
— * 0 — ~i~~
:
•• -T • • 'r "
4 =1
a
i — i —
i — |
=1 l- — =
— 1
~*\—
— i-=j
nfc
there's a blood -y law a - gin' the Wear -in' o' the Green; I ----
'twill take root and flour- ish still, tho' un - der -foot 'tis trod; When the
rich and poor stand e - qual, in the light of free -dom's day;
Oh,
^
490
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
I
s
met with Nap - per Tan - dy and he tuk me by the hand, And he
law can stop the blades of grass from grow- ing as they grow, And
E - rin must we lave you, driv - en by the ty - rant's hand, Must we
— • — — r^^
— -< • H -^ 1 1
—* j — j_
-1— *— v— '- — i h-d—
•*•-*•-*• ;•• "•"
z k — i
l_y_ . — 0 — 0 — _ — _£_
0 ., 0 i* — f-
said " how's poor ould
when the leaves in
ask a. moth - el's
Ire - land, and
sum - mer tune their
wel - come from a
^ \, * -*•
how does she stand?"
ver - dure dare not show;
strange but hap - py land?
w f — — ^J
— 1 d 1
~J2. 1 * LI
P>
E3 1
^
•
=H
JL k 1
-K
P -45 = E TU-A
<m£. Li
__ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ p. , "-|~*~
- r
— « 0 * «—
i/-11 ir=^ — • • v * •
She's the most dis - tress - ful coun - try, that ev
Then I will change the col - or I wear
Where the cm - el cross of Eng - land's thral -dom nev
- er you have seen; They're
in my cau - been, But
- er shall be seen, And
1 ~ i 1 s *
\ "*
*-*'*r- *r~ *r
+ •+••*• •*• -*•
— '-}-* — « — - -•-
•*• -J- •*• -••-»•
-#•-£• -£-S- -*•
•
' — *-hpi * *-
Jj— ; =£^
=f — J -3~l -1 ? *| i
Repeat as Chorus.
t k. ». II
JUp — p_
* v
£ ^ s H4
— h ^ ~ —
^ ^i J *
090 0 II
hang - ing men and
'till that day, please
where, thank God, we'll
wo - men there for wear
God, I'll stick to wear
live and die, still wear
H- — i- _j i r
- ing of the green.
- ing of the green.
- ing of the green.
— -i j — -i 1 ^H
Pj
-i- =F=
•»•
-4 — ^ — fe— * 41
$ ^ s ^
3
m 4 fL * ~t_
p _+ — 4 J U
YES! THE DIE IS CAST.
YES! THE DIE IS CAST.
491
PAUL PESTEL was born in 1794. He was of German descent, and was Colonel com-
manding a Russian regiment of infantry. He allied himself with a secret society which
for its object the overthrow of the empire, and soon became its most zealous
EBs schemes were discovered and reported to the Emperor Nicholas, and
1 was immediately chained in a dungeon, where he remained until his execution,
July 11, 1826. There seems to be no reason for disbelieving the statement that shortly
ore his death, he composed, and with a link of his chain rudely carved upon his
dungeon wall, the words and music of this famous song.
Andante.
p
1- Yes!
2. Hark!
the dio is
tho fa- tal
cast!
bell,
The tur - bid dream
Each pass- ing hour
of life is wan- ing,
the dun-geon wak - ing;
The
25 I
f=
h> h
— i
N s N-
— 1 • — -j,— — -
K-
i Hi
-1 1
Km • - —*• — * — *-\-*-. j — j1 j i 0 b — P — • \ J •'•'•I —
tj v
gulf will soon be past, The soul im - mor - tal joy at - tafn - ing.
Chimes a sad fare - well; In sol -emn tones the si - lence break - ing.
-* 1
ffpr
— F
— i — i — i —
— i — i — ^ —
i — r
— F^
— i — J
=1-
i 1 J 1
•*
^L -J- -
1 V ' ^V ' ^
u J. J. ' V-J- * -JL -J- ^ '^J. "> J.
b J
^-rd
-J 1
^ r i
M* ^
r j
i
E3= ^^
^& i
— «• — i
-j
— H
^
^
Thus then I fall, my na-tive land to save, Shall I live a slave? No I the free and brave
Fell u-surp-er, know thy sav- age ty - ran-ny Soon will set me free; Thwarted thou shall be, For
^ A
492
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
At the end of adverse D.C.from % to Fine.
E U 1__
H
i
-&•—
shall scorn to yield, My country's flag shall wave A - round the pa- triot's grave !
I shall rise a-bove thee in e- ter- ni - ty, Im - mor-tal life thougiv'stto me.
£^
TULLOCHGORUM.
THE author of this song, EEV. JOHN SKINNER, was born at Balfour, Scotland, October 3f
1721. He was liberally educated, and had been given to rhyming from childhood. He
became a clergyman, and joined himself to the party of the Episcopal or non-juring clergy.
Still, he could not have been a very strong partisan, for his song of "Tullochgorum" was-
made expressly to assist in reconciling contending factions. Mr. Skinner was at the house
of Mrs. Montgomery, with a company, when a dispute arose on the subject of Whig and
Tory politics, which became unpleasantly exciting. The hostess called upon Mr. Skinner
to suggest appropriate words for the " Reel of Tullochgorum," whereupon he then and
there made the song which Burns called " the best Scotch song ever Scotland saw."
fa (* 9 —
^ is J . — >< —
K JX-
K-
^ J . v
— P-
>' J . — $-
IP) 1/—
•-S fc1 J-T
0
-9—. ^— — ^~
-i^
-* '- Z 1
J 9-9 _^L'
1. "Come gie's a sang," Montgom - ery cried,
2. Oh ! Till- loch - go - rum's my de-light,
-9-2 • 1 1—
9 9
"And lay your dis-putes
It gars us a' in
1 1
a'
ane
a - side ; "What
u • nite, And
1 1-
•%-* /> -1
-S— — s5— 9—
__ J
s»
J
(en * '
* £ «
*"" f
•
\
*
•
•
£ I
^ P
9
— 1 —
9
j ~ j
£—
J ^
•=*=
rrr-jf 1
•
— 1
& 1
-w-
-9-
-f-
y *r i. p v k
- B « i
&—£ N 9—> ts ? K N -fe
— N $ 9—- 1
Pv
p
W J-r -«— — ^ 9-. ^ -+-. J3_
—2 * % 9—
H
— gi
tJ ' * -£ 9 '
sig - ni - fiest for folks to chide For what's been done be - fore
o - ny sumph that keeps up spite, In con -science I ab - hor
\£Z ^ 1. — — J 1 .. -I- ^r
them?
him.
=f=
Let
For
Sp -fc
—K g J? —
— -T! —
3
&& — J = H a
9
^= — s= — f
v»
^i i * i
— : :
TULLOCHGORUM.
493
Whig and To - ry a' a - gree,
blithe and mer - ry we'll a' be,
Whig and To - ry, Whig and To - ry,
Blithe and mer - ry, blithe and mer - r£
Whig and To - ry a' a - gree To drop their Whig - mig - mo - rum, Let
Blithe and mer - ry we'll be a', And make a cheer - fu' quo - rum, For
-*-
i£*— s-
-p — -p — 3S
— — — K frr-
g> r
g c • g
F=^
Whig
blithe
=b ft. J'. iP -j3 — *— ^ -b-
and To - ry a' a - gree To spend the night with mirth
and mer - ry we'll be a', As lang as we hae breath
3El — 8-
and glee, And
to draw, And
1
/ *^
^
— d
J
if •"{ 5? —
4 j
5 5
— 5? — — • — — j? —
— s
BaZ
•
C
•
f
3
|
9
i
W*-' ^
X •
«< —
-4- -«— j
— X —
fc±-^-
.«
S
r£-S
^— » N-
Uk f
rr. — R >• f ,
- -f^-H
pb=£-=| •• b ^
cheer - fu' sing a - lang
dance till we be like
wi' me The reel o' Tul - loch - go - rum.
to fa', The reel o' Tul - loch - go - rum.
J- -^- *— H
P
i
T =i
* K '
I " "
1 , II
2i
— ^4-
-J- t
I ^-"
494
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
There needs na be sae great a fraise,
Wi' dringing dull Italian lays ;
I wadna gie our ain strathspeys
For hauf-a-hunder score o' them.
They're dowf and dowie at the best,
Dowf and dowie, dowf and dowie,
They're dowf and dowie at the best,
Wi' a' their variorum.
They're dowf and dowie at the best,
Their Allegros and a' the rest:
They canna please a Highland taste,
Compared wi' Tullochgorum.
Let warldly minds themselves oppress ,
Wi' fears o' want and double cess,
And silly sots themselves distress
Wi' keeping up decorum.
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit?
Sour and sulky, sour and sulky,
Sour and sulky shall we sit,
Like auld Philosophorum ?
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Wi' neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit,
Nor ever rise to shake a fit
To the reel o' Tullochgorum?
May choicest blessings aye attend
Each honest, open-hearted friend,
And calm and quiet be his end,
And a' that's gude watch o'er him.
May peace and plenty be his lot,
Peace and plenty, peace and plenty,
Peace and plenty be his lot,
And dainties a great store o' 'em;
May peace and plenty be his lot,
Unstain'd by ony vicious blot,
And may he never want a groat,
That's fond o' Tullochgorum !
But for the discontented fool
Who loves to be oppression's tool,
May envy knaw his rotten soul,
And discontent devour him !
May dool and sorrow be his chance,
Dool and sorrow, dool and sorrow,
Dool and sorrow be his chance.
And nane say, wae's me for him ;
May dool and sorrow be his chance,
And a' the ills that come frae France,
Whae'er he be that winna dance
The reel o' Tullochgorum.
MARTIAL AND PATRIOTIC SONGS,
44 Qui vive /»' And is the sentry's cry,—
The sleepless soldier's band, —
Are these — the painted folds that fly
And lift their emblems, printed high
On morning mist and sunset sky —
The guardians of a land ?
No I if the patriot's pulses sleep,
How vain the watch that hirelings keep,
The idle flag that waves,
When Conquest, with his iron heel,
Treads down the standards and the steel
That belt the soil of slaves !
— Oliver Wendell Holm«$.
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blest I
When spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than fancy's feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung :
There Honor comes, a pilgrim grey,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there.
— William Collint.
MARTIAL AND PATRIOTIC SONGS.
BONNIE DUNDEE.
THE words of this ballad are by SIR WALTER SCOTT. Mary Eussell Mitford, writing of
it, says : " Nothing seems stranger, among the strange fluctuations of popularity, than the
way in which the songs and shorter poems of the most eminent writers occasionally pass
from the highest vogue into the most complete oblivion, and are at once forgotten as
though they had never been. Scott's spirited ballad, ' The Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee,' is
a case in point. Several persons (among the rest, Mrs. Hughes, the valued friend of the
author) have complained to me, not only that it is not included amongst Sir Walter's ballads,
but that they were unable to discover it elsewhere. Upon mentioning this to another dear
friend of mine, the man who, of all whom I have known, has the keenest scent for literary
game, he threw himself upon the track, and, failing to obtain a printed copy, succeeded in
procuring one in manuscript, taken down from the lips of a veteran vocalist, not, as I should
judge, from his recitation, but from his singing. * * * * At all events, the
transcript is a curiosity. The whole ballad is written as if it were prose. I endeavored to
restore the natural division of the verses; and having since discovered a printed copy,
buried in the " Doom of Devorgoil/ where of course nobody looked for it, I am delighted
to transfer to my pages one of the most stirring and characteristic ballads ever written."
The air of " Bonnie Dundee," under that title, dates from 1628.
Allegretto.
1. To the Lords of Conven - tion 'twas Claverhouse spoke ; Ere the King's crown go down there are
2. Dun - dee he is mounted, he rides up the street, The bells they ring backward, the
mjMjEgjjjj£
•>sfe
fSE
^=
498
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
crowns to be broke, Then each cav - a -Her who loves hon - or and me, Le
drums they are beat, But the pro - vost (douce man) said, "Just e'en let it be, For
H
fol - low the bon - nets of Bon -nie Dun - dee. Come fill up my cup, come
toun is weel rid o' that de'il o' Dun - dee." Come fill up my cup, come
-N *-
I ! I =1
•*••*••*• •*•
up my can, Come sad - die my hors - es, And call out my men! Un -
- hook the west port, And let us gae free, For its up wi' the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.
He spurred to the foot of the proud castle rock, I The Gordon demands of him which way he goes
And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke :
" Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa
words or three,
For the love of the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee."
Come fill up my cup, etc.
" Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose I
Your grace in short space shall hear tidings
of me,
Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee."
Come fill up my cup, etc.
BONNIE DUNDEE.
nills beyond Pentland, and lands
_ ond Forth,
e's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs in
/the North;
.e are brave Duinnewassals three thousand
times three,
cry 'Hey for the bonnet of Bonnie
Dundee.'
Come fill up my cup, etc.
"There's brass on the target of barkened bull-
hide :
There's steel in the scabbard that dangles beside ;
The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall
flash free,
At a toss of the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, etc.
499
" Then awa' to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks !
Ere I own a usurper I'll crouch with the fox;
And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst o' your glee,
Ye hae no seen the last o' my bonnet and me."
Come fill up my cup, etc.
He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were
blown,
The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen
rode on,
Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's lea
Died away the wild war-notes of Bonnie Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
Come saddle the horses and call up the men,
Come open your gates and let me gae free,
For it's up wi' the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.
HAIL TO THE CHIEF.
THIS is the "boat-song" in the second canto of SCOTT'S "Lady of the Lake." The
song is intended to imitate the jorrams, or boat-songs of the Highlanders, which were
usually composed in honor of a favorite chief. These boat-songs are adapted to the
measure of the oars, and it is easy to distinguish between those intended to be sung to the
quick, short stroke of a common boat, and those made to suit the long sweep of a
galley oar.
The air of " Hail to the Chief" was written by SIR HENRY ROWLEY BISHOP.
f Moderate.
£|g^t -£=3-
^=JL^J \ ff±
d^zjzpbz^z-^zz
1. Hail to the
2. Ours is no
„ .if-« — *" 0 * — i
chief who in tri - umph ad - van
sap - ling, chance-sown by the fou
i
•*- ' -f- *- *.+.*.
-f- ± .-••*-?
- ces! . Hon - our'd and
n - tain, Bloom-ing at
4L
* '*4~r — H
= ±f f fj
rfr~ ' — ^ f~T^ ' — ' 1 ^ — ~
rA — ^"^
_j — j — j__
blest be the ev - er - green Pino! Long may the tree in his
Bel - tane, in win - ter to fade ; When the whirl- wind has stripp'd
n f --f j — r-0 — — ' — r— o — — r~* — — • * — r — * * —
^vSi: — ' ^~- IT ' A L" La"1!-.
-fl [ ..._J |> — l_l
.„. i- _ . —
500
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
:j_ n . i
ban-ner that glanc-es, Flour -ish the shel - ter and grace of our linel
ev'ryleaf on the mountain. The more shall Clan - Al - pine ex - ult in her shade.
r~r"f f =fo=Fi — L- l~rt — t — J—
^M -Jf==t:r=P=fzff=£=?E
Heav'n send it hap - py dew, Earth lend it
Moor'd in the rift - ed rock, Proof to the
sap a - new, Gai - ly to
tern - pest's shock. Firm - er he
— pi^: •" — ?—
-e-8 ' J J
|
1 — fh
•-1— i
— «{~ — • r~ -i
r-i^^—
~\
/TV ft — |-
-^t==S
11 • i
2 « «
r ' P * *
Hj)
Tt
wf^~ •
0
& \
bour - geon, and
roots him the
broad - ly
ru - de
r—0- f
to
r it
f
grow!
blow;
3j£,
While ev - 'ry
Men - teith and
•* -Z ~
high - land %
Breadalbane, t
-*--*.-
r — 1
rlen
hen,
a.
CVj5j7 — 0 —
'-'* 'f
1
— \- 1
1- f —
a. d
\2. — g — £ p. —
~r — r
3 —
-i —
-£ — £=->-
* 3
:i=-
*=i=^
Sends our shout back a - gain, "Rod - er - ick,
Ech - o his praise a - gain, "Kod - er - ick,
Rod - er - ick,
Rod - er- ick,
Rod - er - ick Vich
Rod - er - ick Vich
+.•*.*- *-
i==£=^==«=:
1-roudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin,
And Banochar's groans to our slogan replied ;
Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in
ruin,
And the best of Loch Lomond lie dead on her
side.
Widow and Saxon maid,
Long shall lament our raid,
Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe ;
Lennox and Leven-glen
Shake when they hear again,
" Roderick Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! iero ! "
Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the High-
ands,
Stretch to your oars, for the evergreen Pine !
Oh, that the rosebud that graces yon island,
Were wreathed in a garland around him to
twine !
Oh ! that some seedling gem
Worthy such noble stem,
Honored and blest in their shadow might grow !
Loud should clan Alpine then
Ring from her deepest glen,
"Roderick Vich Alpine dhu, ho! iero!"
THE BLUE BELLS OF SCOTLAND. 501
THE BLUE BELLS OF SCOTLAND.
ANNIE Me VICAR was born in Glasgow, Scotland, February 21, 1755. Her father was an
officer in the British army, and the fortunes of the service brought him to America when his
daughter was two years old. One day the little Annie was found trudging along a mile from
home, and when a friend picked her up she said, " I am going to America, to see papa." A
year later, the mother and daughter landed at Charleston, and rejoined the soldier father
in a fort at Albany. Here Annie grew to girlhood. She had a play-room in which she
kept two treasures besides Indian trinkets and relics of Scotland — Milton, and a dictionary.
The " Paradise Lost" she knew by heart, and the good and evil angels were her playmates,
instead of French dolls. A singularly apropos quotation from Milton so delighted Madam
Schuyler, then the Lady of the Land, that she took the little girl under her own roof.
When Annie was thirteeen years old, the family returned to Scotland, and spent three years
on the banks of the Cart, near Glasgow, when they removed to Fort Augustus. Here Miss
McVicar married Kev. James Grant, chaplain of the fort, who was appointed minister at
Laggan, in Inverness-shire. Mr. Grant died, leaving his wife with eight children dependent
upon her. In this emergency, her old knack at rhyming came into her mind, and she
collected her poems and published them successfully by subscription. A few years later
she published three volumes entitled " Letters from the Mountains," which passed through
several editions. Two years afterward she brought out the " Memoirs of an American Lady,"
the most interesting of her works. Other volumes of prose and verse followed, and, with a
pension granted her by the government, she passed the rest of her days in comfort, sur-
rounded by warm friends, in the city of Edinburgh. She reached the age of eighty-four,
with faculties almost unimpaired. Professor Andrews Norton, of Cambridge, writes her
from this country, " It was delightful to find you in old age, after such severe trials, so
supported and strengthened by the power of God— not resigned merely, possessing not
the calm benevolence of age alone ; but the kindlier feelings in their freshness and flower
which, beautiful as they are in youth, become so much more deeply interesting when we
know that care and sorrow had no power to wither them." Mrs. Grant died November 7,
1838. She wrote " 0 where, tell me where" on the occasion of the departure of the
Marquis of Huntly for the continent with his regiment, in 1799. Ritson, in his " North
Country Chorister," printed in 1802, has this song under the title " The New Highland
Lad." He says, " The song has been lately introduced upon the stage. It was originally
'The Bells of Scotland/ but was revised by Mrs. Jordan, who altered the words and sang
them to a tune of her own, which superseded the old air." When Charles Mackay and Sir
Henry Kowley Bishop were arranging old English airs, this song came under discussion.
Mackay says, " The Blue Bells of Scotland is almost invariably spoken of as a Scottish air ;
but Sir Henry found reason to suspect that it was English, and urged me to write new
words to it, to dispossess, if possible, the old song of Mrs. Jordan. He was induced to fo
this opinion by receiving from Mr. Fitzgerald, ' a Sussex tune' to a song commencing :
I have been a forester this many a long day.' Three or four bare of the melody were
almost identical with the second part of ' The Blue Bells of Scotland,' but as the reman
bore no resemblance to that popular favorite, and the whole tune was so beautiful that
was well worth preserving, I so far complied with Sir Henry's wish as to write 'The Magic
Harp ' to Mr. Fitzgerald's kind contribution to our work. Sir Henry wrote under Oft
the 22d of October, 1852, ' I am strongly of opinion that when Mrs. Jordan compose
Blue Bells of Scotland" she founded her air upon that rescued from oblivion
Mr. Fitzgerald,-or rather that she originally intended to sing it to that tune, but fl
some parts of it too high for her voice, which was of a very limited compass, she alt
them,aiid the air became that of the "Blue Bells of Scotland."'
502
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
1. Oh ! where, tell me where is your highland lad-die gone? Oh ! where, tell me where is your
2. Ohl where, tell me where did your Highland laddie stay? Oh! where, tell me where did your
3. Ohl what, tell me what does your Highland laddie wear? Oh! what, tell me what does your
*-=-
^^
w\> / J' J — p I I'l
•^ N-H : — i —
— f— U r r (• »J *- t.
iv
, 9
J E_
™ • J > W I
u •*
.
Highland lad - die gone?" He'sgone with streaming banners,where no - ble deeds are done, And ray
Highland lad -die stay? "He dwelt beneath the holly trees, Be- side the rap - id Spey, And
Highland lad -die wear? "A bon-netwith a loft^y plume, the gal- lant badge of war, And a
-| 1
^^ r
3 ..
— i
i a ir—
t?
j J
-\ ^
^ j 3 t
Ql- =»-•-
— i
i ^ a uj« j ^ —
J^j
J
?i * — —
fr^j.
— * — *• I :
• r^l f •
fit)' K
I : M
1 J
gj
—
J C
^lA«i
| ,
•— : — =i- -
— *! — '
-
—
fc~~ ~»^—
^ I/
J
IP
1
*- -•- -J- —
»
/ J. *
i
_J.
sad heart will tremble, till he come safe- ly home, He's gone with streaming banners where
many a blessing followed him the day he went a - way, He dwelt beneath the holly trees, be-
plaid across the manly breast that yet shall wear a star, A bon- net with a lofty plume, the
no - ble deeds are done, And my sad heart will trem - ble till he come safe- ly home."
side the riv- er Spey, And many a blessing fol-lowed him the day he went a -way."
gal- lant badge of war, And a plaid acros^jthe man - ly breast that yet shall wear a star."
* ^^ 1
m
±
Suppose, ah suppose, that some cruel, cruel
wound
Should pierce your Highland laddie, and all your
hopes confound ;
" The pipe would play a cheering march, the
banners round him fly,
And for his king and country dear with pleasure
would he die.
But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland's
bonnie bounds,
But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland's
bonnie bounds;
His native land of liberty shall nurse his
glorious wounds,
While wide through all our Highland hills his
warlike name resounds."
THE BLUE BELLS OF SCOTLAND,
503
The following altered version of Mrs. Grant's song became even more popular than
the original.
Andantino.
e
-*-?-
^^
i
1. Oh where, and oh where is your Highland lad -die gone? He's gone to fight the
2. Oh, where, and oh where does your Highland lad -die dwell? He dwells in mer-ry
-(SL
French for King George upon the throne; Audit's oh, in my heart, how I wish him safe at home.
Scot- land, at the sign of the Blue Bell. And it's oh, in my heart, that I love my lad-die well.
What clothes, in what clothes is your Highland
laddie clad ?
His bonnet's of the Saxon green, his waistcoat's
of the plaid ;
And it's oh ! in my heart, that I love my High-
land lad.
Suppose, oh, suppose that your Highland lad
should die?
The bagpipes shall play over him, I'll lay me
down and cry ;
And it'f oh ! in my heart, that I wish he may
not die !
THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME.
" THE girl I left behind me " is no doubt of Irish origin. It has been found in a manu-
script dated about 1770. "The air was also taken down," says Bunting, "from A. O'Neil,
harper, A. D. 1800 — author and date unknown. The air was written for a march, and the
English version of the words, called ' Brighton Camp,' differs considerably from these."
Chappell, while he puts in an English claim to the air, admits that it may be Irish. He
thinks it was probably written in 1758, when there were encampments along the coast — at
Brighton among the rest — where many tunes of this sort originated. Wherever it was
first played, it is now almost a century since it became the soldier's and sailor's loathe-to-
leave, and it has so long been played on every man-of-war as she weighed anchor, and for
every regiment as it quitted a town where it had been stationed, that an omission would
be thought a slight upon the ladies.
1. The dames of France are fond and free, And Flem - ish lips are
2. For she's as fair as Shannon's side, And pu - rer than its
will - ing, And
wa - ter, But
&
f--
soft the maids of I - ta - ly, And Span - ish eyes are thrill - ing; Still,
she re - fus'd to be my bride Though many a year I sought her; Yet,
504
OUB FAMILIAR SONGS.
L£ T _j j '• /
-Hr-F-f 11 F
—t^k
though I bask be - neath their smile, Their charms fail to bin
since to France I sail'd a - way, Her let-ters oft re_ - min
F^"^P^"^ !"••• ^^^^^1
i me, And mv
d me, That I"
1
a, ?
* * M 1
tp EJ
j r
JM~^-
^ 1 1
— .
/^\« ^~ — ,
i •
T
P 5_ r
=H — 1 — <
^_ J
^•'t' —
-j 1
3
n ^
i
H 4-
^ y t * i t — •L-J — ;F^!b^- ;' ' J— *- -t^-iHU
heart falls back to E - rin's Isle, To the girl I left be - hind me.
pro - mis'd nev - er to gain - say The girl I left be - hind me.
j ^
^=
1 /V). * K f
p\
N J p"^ 11
\ P^L r -±- — b
— J * =1 —
J £ J — H — H
\ V^p. — — — e — — a ^
. m.
* p * H— H
She says, " My own dear love come home,
My friends are rich and many,
Or else, abroad with you I'll roam,
A soldier stout as any ;
If you'll not come, nor let me go,
I'll think you have resigned me,"
My heart nigh broke when I answered " No,"
To the girl I left behind me.
9
For never shall my true love brave
A life of war and toiling,
And never as a skulking slave
I'll tread my native soil on ;
But were it free or to be freed,
The battle's close would find me
To Ireland bound, nor message need
From the girl I left behind me.
THE SOLDIER'S TEAR.
THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY wrote the words of this soug. The air was composed by
ALEXANDER LEE, an Irishman, son of Harry Lee, the famous boxer. Alexander resided for
many years in London. He was at first a professional singer, but afterwards became suci •< -ss-
ively manager of Drury Lane and other theatres. He realized large sums of money, but
finally became very poor, and died in Kensington, in 1849, on the very evening when a
concert was being given for his benefit. His ballads, which are very numerous, are
characterized by great sweetness and simplicity.
kl
==FF^
-»— r-*-rv
1. Up - on the hill he turn'd,
2. Be - side that cot - tage porch,
3. He turn'd and left the spot,
To take a last fond look, Of the
A girl was on her knees, She
Oh! do not deem him weak, For
THE SOLDIERS TEAR.
— K-
505
val - ley and the vil - lage church, And the cot-tage by the brook; He
held a- loft a snow - y scarf , Which flut-ter'd in the breeze; She
daunt - less was the sol - die r's heart, Tho' tears were on his cheek; Go
lis-ten'd to the sounds,
breath'd a pray'r for him,.,
watch the fore- most ranks . .
i J*
fa - mi - liar to his ear,
A pray'r he could not hear,
In dan - ger's dark ca • reer,
And the
But he
Be
,4 LI*
1=^=
i:
sol - dier leant up - on his sword, And wip'd a
paus'd to bless her as she knelt, And wip'd a
sure the hand most, dar - ing there Has wip'd a
way
way
way
tear,
tear,
tear.
it
&
1 p — p;
?=^3^CT
*;
THE DASHING WHITE SERGEANT.
THE music of " The Dashing White Sergeant" was composed by SIR HENRY ROWLEY
BISHOP. The author of the words is unknown.
Allegro a la militaire.
j — — 0 ^ • — "m~~i —
SOb
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
no, not II
no, not I!
Fora sol - dier who'd go, Do you think I'd say no? No,
Do you think I'd take on, Or sit moping for -lorn? No,
red coat I saw,
fame my concern,
I r~ izrfiz£_
Not a tear would it draw,
How my bo-som would burn,
But I'd
When I
I
m
yt-
•IF
give him e - clat for his bra - ve - ryl
saw him re - turn crown'd with vie - to - ry I
If an ar - my of Am -azons e'er
If an ar - my of Am -aisons e'er
THE DASHING WHITE SERGEANT.
— ly
507
came in play, As a dashing white ser - geant I'd
march a - way,
A dash-ing white ser - geant I'd
3^
+ P
j^=M—
march a -way, march a - way, march a - way, march a - way , mar
— -! «_
-» —
/
Ul£~ ^
^EEF^ — r*i
_i — » —
p. i ! "
_H
1 ' ; J j^
^_i=^_ .
rf —
P* — *=?=*— :
FU-* . -'did
W^
=r=-r-~ r-.-^— ~
. -t •*?•?•+
march a-
march a- way, march a- way march a - way.
508
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
THE GALLANT TROUBADOUR.
THIS song, as well as " Dunois the Brave," formed part of a manuscript collection of
French songs which were said to have been picked up on the field of Waterloo, by a gentle-
man whose daughter transferred them to SIR WALTER SCOTT, who made the translations.
Scott says they probably formed part of a collection made by an officer, and adds that the
manuscript was so much stained with blood and clay as sufficiently to indicate the fate of
its late owner.
BE
J
1. Glow-ing with love, on fire for
2. And,wbile he march'd, with helm on
fame,
head,
A trou - ba- dour that hat - ud
And harp in hand the des - cant
sor
rang,
row, Beneath his la
. ... As faith - ful to
dy's win - dow came,
his fav' - rite maid,
And thus he
The minstrel
i — K-i x = — FT— I — ! I 7'"!"!
sang his last good morrow; —
bur - then still he sang:—
; My arm it is my eoun - try's right— My
31 y arm it is my conn - try's right ; My
THE GALLANT TROUBADOUR.
509
n tt ^
^
^^i^
tL N
^
r 'Ti*-
r
f
f
• p w
p r
* II
f jX j
1
r ' J _n
J V • i*
LL^_ *
—
4 * — *
_^_- •
"H II
s
Be
1* — i
lant trou - ba •
dour.
fi"
lit'
j^
lant trou - ba -
dour.
ite=
——
i £ n
'*•:•:
b=
-*
^ J^
+i
-
-*
•
-*- nf
— 1 g 1~
s
— jh~
^-,di
^ #
— - —
— 4 —
• •>
1 ^ ffj
K
" I y I'
E'en when the battle's roar was deep,
With dauntless heart he hewed his way,
'Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep,
And still was heard the warrior lay : —
" My life it is my country's right,
My heart is in my lady's bow'r ;
For love to die, for fame to fight,
Becomes the valiant Troubadour."
Alas ! upon the bloody field
He fell, beneath the foeman's glaive,
But still, reclining on his shield,
Expiring sang th' exulting stave: —
" My life it is my country's right ;
My heart is in my lady's bow'r;
For love and fame to fall in fight
Becomes the valiant Troubadour."
DUNOIS THE BRAVE.
HORTENSE EUGENIE BEAUHARNAIS, mother of Napoleon III., has long enjoyed the
reputation of being both author and composer of the following song. Under its original
title of " Partant pour la Syrie," it became a favorite French national melody; and under
the title of " Dunois the Brave," Sir Walter Scott's translation of it was one of the drawing-
room favorites in America fifty years ago. It was written and composed upon the
departure for Syria of the Count of Flahaut, one of the flatterers pf Queen Hortense.
Drouet, who was her musical secretary, has left laughable accounts of the way in whHi In-
was compelled by her imperious Majesty to reduce her crude airs to rhythm and melody,
and if the truth were ever told of royal highnesses, this fiue air might perhaps own an
humbler origin. Queen Hortense, of Holland, daughter of Alexjiudre and Josephine
Beauharnais, was born in Paris, April 10, 1783, and died at Areuberg, Switzerland,
October 5, 1837.
K
1. it
2. His
was
oath
Du-nois, the young and brave, Was bound
of hon- our on the shrine he graved
for Pal - es - tine,
it with his sword,
I
But
And
510
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
,.Ag 1 =- 1 1 — r-
^. 1 j
~~1~~r
~d 1 }—
— J^=-
tJ ~*"
first he made his
fol- low'd to the
& F : F f Y I
3. 3 i
o - ri - son
Ho • ly Land
-f^-F-f-
be • fore Saint Ma
the ban - ner of
-r-rr t e
— f^-z^zz^^
r * ^
- ry's shrine: "And
his lord; Where,
* ^^ ^ —
' j
Pw1
— ^--
r r i
1 ! I
— U L
= '
2 * 1
1
grant, im - mor - tal
faith - ful to his
T^T-JJ 0 • • 0-
^+=£-3r-3r-* i \-=^^r^-'^
queen of heav'n," Was still the sol- dier's prav'r, "That
no - ble vow, his war - cry fill'd the air, " Be
-i — 0— ! » 0 * — i — 0 • 0 • — • — & :— * •
fif)3i 1 F ^ £-
1t — r~r
rt — ^~=^
» ~V~1
S~^t
•* — r — r — F — F~
--b-. — b — U-
*
~~r — r — f
C L
^-7-^ 1
i i ' i
A P r~^ r"
T^ T^\
1 J r
i i '
i Is
r
i n
its* is • n
j i •
j • j
j « •
•ri • II
dk-£ h £ J J j
a 1| « —
J
_g 3 — 1_
_H — * —
— -^ — H
w J-^— *— — *-
i a-: — d —
— ^-^ — j—
— « — » —
sH H
•J F
I mav prove the brav - est knight,
hon - or'd aye the brav - est knight,
and love the
be loved the
i
fair - est
fair - est
fair.''
fair."
/»Vtt F i* ii
r
r
» •- » - •
f P
" II
czSu L • i* F r
.
• • U
r2 ' II
£231 p
. »
..» : * P
.
: r II
They owned the conquest of his arm, and then
his liege lord said ;
" The heart that has for honor beat by bliss must
be repaid,
My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded
pair,
For thou art bravest of the brave, she fairest of
the fair.
I
And then they bound the holy knot before Saint
Mary's shrine,
That makes a paradise on earth if hearts and
hands combine :
And every lord and lady bright that were in
chapel there,
Cried, " Honored be the bravest knight, beloved
the fairest fair."
THE MARCH OF THE CAMERON MEN.
THE name of the authoress of " The March of the Cameron Men " was long unknown.
The song was written in her youth by Miss MARY MAXWELL CAMPBELL, who shared the
Scottish mania for concealment. Miss Campbell's home was at Pitfour, Eifeshire. Her
father was Dugald Campbell, of Skerrington, Ayrshire. The song had been long assigned
to others, when Miss Campbell confessed its source and said that she composed it " after
travelling from morning to night through Highland scenery, with a member of the family
of Lochiel." It alludes to the rising in 1745, and the chief who inspires it is Donald
Cameron of Lochiel, made immortal by Campbell's lyric. He was the head of the powerful
clan Cameron, and was devotedly loved for his social virtues as well as his prowess. The
" gentle Lochiel," as he was named, did not, however, die at Culloden ; he escaped to
France with a wound, and afterward commanded a regiment in the French service. When
Prince Charles landed for that fatal encounter, Lochiel tried to dissuade him from his
purpose for the present, but, failing in that, he placed himself and his powerful following
at the Prince's service. There is a ballad called " Tranent Muir," written by Mr. Skirving,
which says :
Down guns they threw, and swords they drew,
And soon did chase them aff, man :
On Seaton Crafts they bufTd their chafts,
The great Lochiel, as I heard tell,
Led Camerons on in cluds, man :
The morning fair, and clear the ah",
They loos'd wi' devilish thuds, man.
Andgar'd them rin like daft, man.
THE MARCH OF THE UAMEROX MEN.
511
jojfa 3=r i
-ft HS f* f- "^ — * — 1
\ \~ " » • ^" 1
1. There's
2. Oh!
3. The
ma - ny a man of the
proud - ly they walk, but each
moon has a - ris - en, It
Ca - me - ron clan, That has
Ca - me - ron knows, He may
fr^ O 1
— j if5 j J~ —
j ^3 _j _j
m±J
9
i i s i
i * * *
p\ * it ft i
— 1 h _: _4s_
I i
if "s ^
— « — — « • — — 4—
0 0 0 0
1 1 j -1
•*•
-* -+ -+ •+
fol-Iow'd his chief to the field;.,
tread on the heath - er no more,,
trod by the gal - lant and true;.
He has sworn to sup - port him, or
But bold - ly he fol - lows his
High, hign are their hopes, for their
die by his
chief to the
chief - tain has
side, For a Ca - me - ron nev - er can yield,
field, Where his lau - rels were gath-er'd be - fore,
said, That what - ev - er men dare they can do...
I hear the
Pib - roch sound-ing, sound -ing, deep o'er the mountain and glen ..... While
CIS
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
»
-9 9 9-
* tzzj 0_£L^ S — «_L— «L_ ^I^r_ — ^
light-springing footsteps are trampling the heath, 'Tis the march of the Ca - me -ron men
I SEE THEM ON THEIR WINDING WAY.
BISHOP HEBER extemporized the words of this song, one evening, for a favorite cousin,
who was visiting in the family. They were made to suit a march played by the lady, in
which the sounds of a military band were imitated.
A"v"""'- j .Ld-,jU-=j3:
3= :_J._j_=gi<q
—i *\ — ^
'» »~- *^=3p=
1. I see them on their wind - ing way, A - bout their ranks the moon-beams play ; Their
2. A -gain, a- gain the peal- ing drum, The clash -ing horn, they come, they come, Thro'
-t:
^ fr U 0
**=?
rt
fe£
J
===r^
=t3%=t3=*
lot - ty deeds and dar - ins
rock - y pass, o'er wood -co
high,
steep,
r~ c~r
Blend with the notes of vie - to - ry ; And
In long and glitt - 'ring files they sweep ; And
>
-0 «-
^=5=J=F:
~^-
near
i i
-4^—4-
er, near
s
HP
er, yet
wav - ing arms, and ban - ners bright, Are glanc - ing in
near - er. near - er. vet... ,. more near. Their soft -en'd c.ho
more near,
the
rus
5^
w-y-E-
m
Are glanc - in:?, glancing in the
Their soft - en'd, soften'd cho - rus
mel
meets
- low
the
light,
ear,
They're lost and gone,.
Forth, forth, and meet,.
j. SEE THEM ON THEIR WINDING WAY.
IN
513
V \ i/
past, The wood's dark shade is o'er them cast, is o'er them 'cast Am
way, ^ The tramp - ing hoof s brook no de - lay,' brook no de- fay, ' With
.,__, ,_,_£
The wood's dark shade is o'er them cast,
The tramp -ing hoofs brook no de - lay,
cres.
faint - er, faint - er, faint • er still The march is ris - ing o'er the hill
thrill - ing fife and peal - ing drum, And clash - ing horn, they come, they come, they
-* * * *— r+ * * — T ft— ft *_^t-
rs
come,
• ing o'er the hill, ris - ing o'er the hill
they come, they come,.... they come, they come, they come
y y ^ y y ' ^ ~y
-dz-
-£=*
_l — _ — 0
E^=Li!t=z«
E^EE^Efe!
see them on their wind - ing way, A - bout their ranks the moon-beams play ; Their
ty deeds and dar - ing high
jp. « *._
9—9
Blend with the notes of vie - to - ry.
THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMIN'.
"FEW names deserve more honorable mention in the history of Scotland, during the mem-
orable year 1715, than that of John, Duke of Argyle and Greenwich. Soaring above the petty
distinctions of faction, his voice was raised for those measures which were at once just and
lenient." Thus writes Walter Scott in "The Heart of Mid-Lothian." Pope alludes to—
" Argyle, the state's whole thunder born to wield,
And shake alike the senate and the field."
These quotations both refer to John Campbell, the "Great Argyle" of this familiar
song. The martial air " The Campbells are cornin' " is very old.
(38)
514
OUB FAMILIAR SONGS.
1. The Campbells are corn-ill', o - ho, o - ho, The Campbells are com -in', o-
s
-ho, o - ho, The Campbells are com - in' To bon - nie Loch - le - ven : The
/L ft r • r J PK.
P
•
E
r r " "F "
IfhurL * J P
J !
^
t
^ \) V \, V w J
I » i
u u ^
§ J
r 1. Up - on
Campbells are com - in', o - ho, o - ho. < 2. Great Ar -
( 3. The Camp -
n * fc ^ 1
the Lo- monds
gyle, goes t
bells they a
h
[
e-
re
» — n
V *ru- » f ^*^^
\
m m ' P
X tf r « r J ^^^^
B
1,
c r i
-J
(M) ' r ' J ~H
J J
i
J 1 m
i
» f {
I
1* ' j
"1
^-.^n
* 99
-
^- ft g|
# —
— *
— -m —
r '
V
lay, I lay, Up - on
fore, be - fore, He makes
a' in arms, Their loy
the Lo - monds I lay,
the can - nons and guns
al faith and truth
I layi I
to roar; Wi'
to show ; Wi'
THE CAMPBELLS ABE COMIN'.
look-ed down to bon-nie Loch-le-ven, And saw three bon - nte pi- pers
sound o' trum-pet, pipe, and drum, The Campbells are com -in', o - ho
ban-ners rat - tlin' in the wind, The Campbells are com -in', o - ho' o-
play,
ho.
ho.
TO GREECE WE GIVE OUR SHINING BLADES.
THIS is the opening song in THOMAS MOORE'S "Evenings in Greece." SIR HENRY
ROWLEY BISHOP arranged the air.
mP s i
EjeiqEB — N | l
— J-rJ
^ S 1
-^ K ^ K I
tj
1. The sky is bright, the breeze
2. The moon is in the heav'n
-0- -0- -f-
to- u P f I f — f-^ — ^TT —
4-4—!i— j-
-is fair, And the
a -bove, And the
main -
wind
f •
sail
is
-M i jTi ^
flow - ing full and
on the foam- ing
£jr f .
1 '
V
-^-b— i —
i i
N
1
K.
is
N
fs
— s
f
;
P
- :
/Lb n «
J ' x J 3
J
J
•
J
J
^
[(TV P « • m 9. m
m ' m M
M W
I
s*z j . j » •
9
»
free, full and free;.... Our part - ing
sea, foam-ing sea;.... Thus shines the
word
star
of
-p-
\\
\\
•
ro - man's pray'r, And the
o - man's love, On the
- f * f ,
@\ fr • • U - •• r
f—i — 1 1 —
1* 0
p
•
»
->
•
f
* —
Wh k. p I
§
hope be - fore us — lib - er - ty!
glo - rious strife of lib - er - ty!
lib - er
lib - er
—
tyl)
ty!J
Fare - well I
Fare - well I.
To Greece we give our shin - ing blades, our shin
-"• £ £ •*•
516
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
blades, And our hearts to you, young Ze - an maids, young Ze - an maids !
• • »
f- f r rz-
hearts to you, oar hearts to you, young Ze
fcE£
^FP
Our
f
S
T
SCOTS, WHA HAE WF WALLACE BLED.
ON the 30th of July, 1793, EGBERT BURNS and a friend, Mr. Syme, were travelling on
horseback, "by a moor road, where savage and desolate regions extended wide around."
"The sky," says Mr. Syme, " was sympathetic with the wretchedness of the soil; it became
lowering and dark, the hollow winds sighed, the lightnings gleamed, the thunder
rolled. The poet enjoyed the awful scene; he spoke not a word, but seemed wrapt
in meditation. What do you think he was about 1 He was charging the English army
along with Bruce at Bannockburn. He was engaged in the same manner on our ride home
from St. Mary's Isle, and I did not disturb him. Next day he produced the following
address of Bruce to his troops."
Burns says, in a letter to Mr. Thomson, dated September, 1793 : " I borrowed the
last stanza from the common stall edition of Wallace : —
' A false usurper sinks in every foe,
And liberty returns with every blow ' —
a stanza worthy of Homer." In another letter he says: "I do not know whether the
old air of 'Hey tuttie taittie/ may rank among this number; but well I know that,
with Eraser's hautboy, it has often filled my eyes with tears. There is a tradition which I
have met with in many places in Scotland, that it was Eobert Brace's march at the battle
of Bannockburn. This . thought, in my solitary wanderings, warmed me to a pitch of
enthusiasm on the theme of liberty and independence, which I threw into a kind of
Scottish ode, fitted to the air, that one might suppose to be the gallant royal Scot's address
to his heroic followers on that eventful morning. So may God ever defend the cause of
truth and liberty as he did that day ! Amen. P. S. — I showed the air to Urbani, who was
highly pleased with it, and begged me to make soft verses for it; but I had no idea of
giving myself any trouble upon the subject, till the accidental recollection of that glorious
struggle for freedom, associated with the glowing ideas of some other struggles of the same
nature, not quite so ancient, roused my rhyming mania."
Thomson answers : " Your heroic ode is to me the noblest composition of the kind in
the Sottish language. I happened to dine yesterday with a party of your friends, to whom
I read it. They were all charmed with it, entreated me to find a suitable air for it, and
reprobated the idea of giving it a tune so totally devoid of interest or grandeur as ' Hey
tuttie taittie.' "
SCOTS, WHA HA'E WI> WALLACE BLED.
517
This decision led to a wretched lengthening of the concluding line of every stanza — "or
to glorious victory" — "Edward, chains, and slavery" — "Traitor, coward, turn and flee,"
etc., to adapt it to an air called "Lewie Gordon," which it never suited. The poet's instinct
was the true one, and the ode only became successful as a song when it was reset to the
air of " Hey tuttie taittie," to which alone it is ever sung.
iLfck-a- HS- -A •-* 4— K -15 1
i — is s is 1
=^ ^ — T
tr — * —
1. Scots, wha ha'e wi' Wai - lace bled,
2. Wha will be a trai - tor knave?
3. By op - pres - sion's woes an' pains,
-f) j^-n -i V 1
Scots, wham Bruce has
Wha will fill a
By your sons in
i — K — — K — —
af - ten led,
cow - ard's grave ?
ser - vile chains,
P •* j «*
SJ *f
— s — *• * — 1
W^Sr ft i i
7 •. 7
m i m '
i W 1 1
vs y • _ 4 * §
0 J
2 Z
J ' ~ 0 '
«/ 0 " 0
P
r-HS f 1
Z3ZH5 t «r'
t » .
I* r P 1
«. . — *- 1
—b 4 — • — « — 7 —
i —— *• i
3 — — 5 — - —
"t3 *
H^EB f f • -# ->- ^ •
-i K S K i
-0 S N-
r
Wel - come to your go - ry bed, Or to vie - to
Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn an'
We will drain our dear - est veins, But they shall be
- riel
fleel
free.
/|@^ — 5 — ? « ^ |'~8" f $
w/ r—
« « , ., J« - ,
gj
— i =
u •* *
"i? u u
b=p =3
Fow's the day an' now's the hour,
Wha, for Scot -land's king an' law
Lay the proud u - surp - ers low !
See the front of bat - tie lour;
Free -dom s swa rdw, illstr ong-ly draw,
Ty - rants fall
_^ K —
l< N i
— s — •»'
— « f
•— 5—
N ?
.j±_J tf
_| ^
rj5 — 2= i^
See ap - proach proud Ed - ward's pow'r,
Free - man stand, or free - man fa',
Lib • er - ty's in ev - ry blow !
Chains and
Let him
Let us
sla - ve
fol - low
do or
riel
me!
618
OUlt FAMILIAR SOXGS.
BLUE BONNETS OVER THE BORDER.
SIR WALTER SCOTT founded this song, which first appeared in his novel "The
Monastery," upon an old one called "General Leslie's March to Long-Marston Moor/r
which appeared in Allan Eamsay's "Tea-Table Miscellany" marked as ancient and of
unknown origin. It furnishes so good an example of the way in which Scott, Burns, and
other Scottish poets built up fine songs from poor shreds of material, that I copy it :
March, march, why the deil dinna yc march?
Stand to your arms, my hds, fight in good order I
Front about, ye musketeers all,
Till ye come to the English Border.
Stand till't and fight like men,
True gospel to maintain ;
The Parliament's blythe to see us a-coming.
When to the kirk we come,
We'll purge it ilka room
Fra Popish relics and a' sic innovation,
That a' the world may see
There's nane in the right but we
Of the auld Scottish nation.
Jenny shall wear the hood,
Jockie the sark of God ;
And the kist fu' o' whistles that mak's sic a cleiro,
Our piper braw
Shall hae them a'
Whate'er come on it :
Busk up your plaids, my lads,
'in Cock up your bonnets.
Q *r /* i i ^ f'^ ^ t i,^
AMT " «f «f - -\ - V -
K K S S -N
(TO "8 • ± • 7 1 0 * 0 — 1 M-*-.
** • i r* r^
March! March! Ett-rick and Te - viot - dale, Why
0 0 *' * 0 0
, my lads, din - na ye march
/LiLfi i_ 9_ 9 — _J_ ^ ^ ' —^ 9 _„< . __ j
•f '
i \
P \ r* ,N i"
y*^ 1 7 *? *7 ? 1 ^ ?f *? ?
H
7 t . _
Jt ff f 0 • 1 jj 1 p 1— | 1 1 ^—
_ _^__,_p •— b—
(m— U ^ -£ * 0—-m " 0 "—{-0 ' 0 4—
4^-L J 3 > ± J
for -ward in or - der? March! march! Esk-dale and Lid -dea -dale, All the blue bonnets are
)f_ tl ij~if 1 — *f *> — Sf 1
r M , ~*
fc^ ' ?2 0000
— t- J 7 —| '
\^*^ ~^* * * ~^" ^
r« * 1
^3__ — ^ — « — i_^.§p_j_i7-3_ — ^_
— 1 0 —
N — — 0 — -L-* — — 0 '-* — — * —
n A Fine.
r~i : N ^ — N — i
^k j ^ «r * J ! II ' * P * ^ ' \ * ? 0 " --i i
fl. Ma - ny a ban- ner spread, flut - ters a - bove your head
o - ver the bor - der. < 2. Come from the hills where vour hir - sels are graz - ing,
( 3. Trumpets are sound - wig, war steeds are bound - ing,
_n_« — . d,__ — . _ — , , ,
~K7' — f -"—"•••' ~ — *i — — «j —
i s = —
cm 0 1 ^ 0.— \_0 1 0 1 1
i 0 —
» 4 -»- ^ * ^
i 1 ^H J 1
*
1 1
V 2__ j_ -5 — | ix II J — — j—
j .j ,
BLUE BONNETS OVER THE BORDER.
519
ijUf — f> — f- «... rf' j? r=j
- T t ?— 1=?
Ma - uy a crest that is fa - mous in sto - ry
Come from the glen of the buck and the roe ;
Stand to your arms, and march in good or - der
Z±2 — ^ — — ^ ^_J
; Mount and make read- y, then,
Come to the crag where the
; Eng -land shall many a day
JL — J 7 Jj 3 —
— ^ 7 !*•' — ' i '
_I3 , _U if—
11 J 1 —
\ \
f~y*TL *1
9 *-
•j 4
- J — - — 1 Ei
if 0 £_
— —m . -m
(I
sons of the mountain glen, Fight for your Queen and the old Scott- ish glo - ry.
bea - con is blaz - ing, Come with the buck - ler, the lance and the bow.
tell of the blood - y fray, When the blue bon - nets came o • ver the bor - der.
—9-
I
THE SOLDIER'S RETURN.
ONE summer evening BURNS was sitting with two friends in the inn at Brown Hill,
•when seeing a way-worn soldier pass the door, he called him in, and got him to relate his
adventures. The recital resulted in the production of this song, after a fit of the abstrac-
tion which always preceded Burns's composition.
Mr. Thomson having written that he should get Sir William Allan to paint a picture
for the song, Burns wrote to him : "As to the point of time for the expression in your
proposed print of my ' Sodger's Keturu/ it must certainly be at ' she gazed, she reddened
like a rose.' The interesting dubiety and suspense taking possession of her countenance,
and the gushing fondness, with a mixture of roguish playfulness in his, strike me as things
of which a master will make a great deal."
The name of the old air of this song is " The Mill, Mill 0." It is found in the <•
Manuscript," written in the beginning of the last century.
1 When wild war's dead - ly blast was blawn, And gen - tie peace re -turn - ing, Wi'
2! A leal light heart beats in my breast, My hands un - stain'd wi' plu
y-
=4— i— -*
KllM'j i'lV ilUIlUa I
J-J-
520
OUK FAMILIAR SONGS.
mony a sweet babe fa - ther -less, And mo - ny a wi - dow mourn - ing ; I
for fair Sco - tia hame a - gain, I chee - ry oil did wan - der. I-
— *-. — ' — i—- m • — =i s*—
-*-£- .J=|-:._;_3_
left the lines and tent-ed field, Where lang I'd been a lodg - er;
tho't up -on the banks o' Coil, I thought up - on my Nan - cy;
My
f-3
i
T -
— t—
' — 1 1 —
1
~i —
rJ=H— rj-
-i—
— ; — i —
— i —
-i-
*\
~ 9,
-4
A
^ i—
— * —
j| * iSn
— « —
^- *
4 .
4
i
tr
i
l_j j_
— ,»-
•*"•*• TT
— « — i— « — « —
•*• •*• •*
— • —
^-J— J— J
hum - ble knap - sack
thought up - on the
a' my
witch- in'
wealth, A
smile, That
poor and
caught my
hon - est
youth-ful
sodg
fan
- er.
- cy.
At length I reach'd the bonnie glen
Where early life I sported;
I pass'd the mill and trystin' thorn
Where Nancy oft I courted.
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid
Down by her mother's dwelling !
And turned me round to hide the flood
That in my een was swelling.
Wi' altered voice, quoth I, "Sweet lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom ;
Oh ! happy, happy may he be
That's dearest to thy bosom !
My purse is light, I've far to gang,
And fain wad be thy lodger,
I've served my king and country lang;
Tak' pity on a sodger."
Sae wistfully she gazed on me,
And lovelier was than ever;
Quo' she, " A sodger ance I lo'ed,
Forget him shall I never!
Our humble cot and hamely fare.
Ye freely shall partake it;
That gallant badge, the dear cockade,
Vo're welcome for the sake o't."
She gazed — she reddened like a rose,
Syne pale as ony lily ;
She sank within my arms, and cried,
" Art thou my ain dear Willie ? "
" By Him who made yon sun and sky,
By Whom true love's regarded,
I am the man ! and thus may still
True lovers be rewarded.
" The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,
And find thee still true-hearted;
Though poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair we'se ne'er be parted."
Quo' she, " My grandsire left me gowd,
A mailin' plenish'd fairly;
Then come, my faithfu' sodger lad,
Thou'rt welcome to it dearly."
For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
The farmer ploughs the manor,
But glory is the sodger's prize,
The sodger's wealth is honor.
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger;
Remember he's his country's stay,
In day and hour o' danger.
GAILY THE TROUBADOUR.
GAILY THE TROUBADOUR.
BOTH the words and the music of this song were made by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.
521
1. Gai - ly the Trou-ba- dour touch'd his gui
2. She for the Trou-ba- dour hope - less - ly
3. Hark ! 'twas the Trou- ba - dour breath - ing her
tar, . . .
wept,,
name,
When he was
Sad - ly she
Un - der the
555
if |T
^
—f-
S~
1- -| «
l~g 1
J K
-^=£q
gpLLV J— J
hast- en - ing
thought of him
bat - tle-ment
--rf—
home
when
soft -
—9 J—
from the
oth- ers
ly he
^^
war:
slept :
came:
Sing - ing " from Pa - les - tine, hith - er I
Sing - ing " in search of thee, would I might
Sing - ing " from Pa - les - tine, hith - er I
t_^ — H — i . i
" J^_J
^?
s
•
s
' — 1
^
^
—
•^ 9 9
h 1— 4- +
1 legato
\» m s*
^= =ib
HI — — 53 —
^ |
\l_bi_j j
-I±—
— i
-•
-J-
V i !/ |
3r —
-i —
— P f
^
' 0
ch ^ * ^
£
~*1 — T — r~
f f f^
— \
3
— E
-f—
.
come,
roam,
come,
' — » —
La - dye love !
Trou- ba- dour I
La - dye love !
-V— — *->• 1 9 ' •
La- dye love ! welcome me home."
Trou- ba- dour ! come to thy home."
La- dye love! welcome me home."
Sing - ing '• from
Sing - ing " in
Sing - ing " from
:-(=!==*-
eJ
&.
m
1
^E
_--
H
-4
— *
1
•
^ -^
\ [j
•4
L^
H
5 i —
=*='
-0
i^ J s. i
N-
it \—
— F^
pp=
I -,ti
Pa - les - tine hith -
search of thee. would
Pa - les - tine, hith -
er I come, La -dye love I
I might roam, Trou- ba-dour !
er I come, La -dye love I
La - dye love I welcome
Trou- ba-dour ! come to
La - dye love I welcome
— ^rj^H
me home."
thy home."
me home."
FRa
j
—
J—
— »
'— pH
_-^
45';
f-1
•
k"~ —
g^gjjji
^
Jf^
-^
T?
r5ffl
-J-
£=
b^4
^
> — i
?
*3P
522 OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
THE MINSTREL'S RETURN.
THE words of " The Minstrel's Return" were written by SIR WALTER SCOTT.
Harmonized by Edward S. Camming*.
A
1 fs fc ! h ft
J JJ^J^JhJ^J !
-jf- —
^r~~h
— li 9^ — 0? 0\ — ~J"~J — lP~~
— ^| — v> — — *i ^ — '"^"^ *^~* — ^ — — ^ — *! —
icH
2=3
— i — y. i 3 s i
^ < • 999 9^' 9 S ^ J 1
Siii — • 1_^ 0.1 — m *-^ — 9 — « 1 •- ; • * •
1. The min-strel's return'd from the war, With spir- its as buoy - ant as air; And
2. The min- strel his suit warm-ly press'd, She blush'd, sigh'd, and hung down her head ; Till
3. But fame call'd the youth to the field, His ban - ner waved o -ver his head; He
! o 1 • • . • « J . • •*- -p-
/ p
p P • P * P • P
B P • P ' P P P' P
P 9
— I f — h K — h K ts X a
^^
~f — r^~? — i:~"~f~
— 1 ^ — 1 1 * V — 1 ^— — ^ P2 — p
V V v V
^ N .
1 1
, ^ |
Lf
P P P^ ^
^n^
j JN r *
v» p^ r K - _i - — J ^ if
DJS
•
I • 2 * ' 2 fi
*^iJ « **«r««f'3 *^J
"• I*
*
9 • 9 » 9 if
thus on his tune - ful gui - tar,
conquer'd, she fell on his breast,
gave his gui - tar^ for a shield,
-P- -P-' -P- ^- £ -P- -&-
-1 ' ^.. + • •
He aings in the bow- er of his fair, He
And thus to the hap- py youth said, And
But soon he lay low with the dead, But
d € "r*~ "P" "(*"
— b —
r g P IB! h
---f — — ^ — rH-1-8— p p. f — ^ P
*"^-
— i
b b i P— f — !*—
_^_i* p — ' K v — b — U^U — P — ^-1 —
n
1
^S i ^^1^L^^ Kh
/__
p r p J — i f**
It J - P K J _r J"- _r « " r 1
j?
1 I^M ^
* m «•«***•* J
ft~ \
m
P W V W • W «
Vs )
p * P P *. «
•F • 9 9 9 * 9^ 9 p • •
J
V~V~^V~~9 1 • »
sings in the bow- er of his fair. " The noise of the bat - tie is o - ver, The
thus to the hap-py youth said: "The bu - gle shall part us, love, nev - 1-1 , My
soon he lay low with the dead. While she, o'er her young he- ro bend - ing, Re-
-f- -P- M -P- £~>- -<*- I*. +. .p.. ^ -. --. ^ _ -ji.
09 09 m m 09 1 -i 09 m • 09 [ [ 09 • 09 S3 09
(CT P
— •* — b — b — bi'=^7 — "
, Si • -b — B I* r r' P -^ ^ -.^..-i
J rj ^ ^ ^ "^
1 ' ^ ^ l/ /^^r? P P PI
^ K
1 1 1
^* v i\ 1 ,N !S 1 J - N k
M
,N |S J CJ
J J Is R J I3C 2 • j — - n
^
J _J^ « 1 ' X -H v
#^ M J-J^^ ••* _*^
l(Y\
_ut
f • d J «/
• P m • 9 a 0 •
\^\)
"IL»
» • * • 9.9 +£)
bu - gle no more calls to arms ;
bos - om thy pil- low shall be;
ceived his ex- pir - ing a - dieu ;
-P- -P- -f- -P- -*: -P- -P-
A sol - dier no more, but a lov - er, I
Till death tears thee from me for - ev - er, Still
" I die, while my coun - try de - fend - ing, With a
-P- -P- -P- -P- -*- • ,^-p-
-ji (rr^-l -IT- -=— ,
pg * — P- p L — ^-i — f* — P-
|SSi
%. C — | H ^ i !
»• • » 1^ ' (^ (^ ™ W**^-jtB-
— 1
V v
J N. IS
i J • « : K -^ :
kneel to the pow'r of thy charms! Sweet la - dy, dear la - dy, I'm thine, I
faith- ful, I'll per - ish with thee." " Sweet la - dy, dear la - dy, I'm thine, I
heart to my la - dy love true." " O Death !" then she sigh'd, " I am thine;
I~L
=t=
~ 5 P P P 1 —
v / — | — — v — v — '• &
— h — i? — t^ — t/ ^ • i r
THE MINSTREL'S RETURN.
523
iar~3 j j P^H-
j •! • x ys j -1
*—' IT s S—
& — f *H-i- ; ^— J-
tJ
bend to the ma - gic of
bend to the ma - gic of
tear off the ros - es of
~*~ T" ' "P" "P" "P" "P"
beau-ty; Tho' the hel - met and ban - ner are
beau-ty; Tho' the hel - met and ban - ner are
beau-ty; For the, grave of my he - ro is
p E • — ~ — P '•' K -T -P-^-P P • P
u t
M K [^ t? '
N N ^^^ A •
1 r g r r M
K N 1 .
/?H ' X — i ^~' ^ * — * £ —
-^-=^ — f — sr-11
^j^~ — g • j » * -
mine, Yet love
mine, Yet love
mine, He died
£*-£ — * — £ — r —
r *
calls the sol - dier
calls the sol - dier
true to love and
_;: ; p_4^
— i V ^-=
to du - ty."
to du - ty."
to du - ty."
f\ f P- v—H
^— p — — -r — P —
-h- ^ 1— — v—
9 \ k P- * \\
THE MINSTREL BOY.
« THE MINSTREL BOY" is one of THOMAS MOORE'S " Irish Melodies." "it is set to the
-old Irish air called " The Moreen." A gentleman who had often heard Moore sing his own
melodies, one evening asked him to copy a song to give him. " Which shall it be f " asked
Moore, and when the gentleman replied, "The Minstrel Boy"— "Well, I think it is about
the best of them," said Moore.
=f^i^£ =*=
find him; His
un - der; The
fa •
harp
ther's sword he has gird - ed on, And his
he lov'd ne'er spoke a - gain, For he
OUB FAMILIAR S
/
wild
tore
harp slung be - hind
its chorus a - sun
"Land of song!" said the
And said, "No chains shall
-0-j- — f »-
-, ft.
—*
S i ft
l
• -9"*" • f
0
9 -j
J '*r
^_J
I "Tho'
all tt
e world b
e -
iee C
>ne
sul - ly thee
C J J ' I
», Thou
soul o
C love ai
id
brav - er -
yl T
hy
4jLj- — *a — "*
- ,^
1
H
l
«F jj—
.- _j _(
^ — —
w ^
*^" 4
* • 2
*
*.
t
• •
•\
t
J u! J
^
1 *~! '
. f <
1 1
,5]^""""
J
\
t~^*- 1 fW
— — i 1
* ~i f
« fe
V -^ y .-] ^14 ^—
t ^ i
H
• -s* — .
l 1
sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, One faith - ful harp shall praise thee 1"
songs were made for the pure and free, They shall nev - er sound in slav - er - yl"
TENTING ON THE OLD CAMP GROUND.
WALTER KITTREDGB was born in the town of Merriinack, Hillsboro Co., New Hamp-
shire, October 8, 1832. His father was a farmer, and Walter was the tenth of eleven
children. His education was received at the common school. He showed a strong
predilection for music at a very early age, but never had a teacher in that art. He says in
one of his letters : " My father bought one of the first seraphines made in Concord, N. H.,
and well do I remember when the man came to put it up. To hear him play a simple
melody was a rich treat, and this event was an important epoch in my child life." Kittredge
began giving ballad concerts alone in 1852, and in 1856 in company with Joshua
Hutchinson, of the well known Hutchinson family. In the first year of the civil war he
published a small, original, Union song-book. In 1862 he was drafted, and while preparing
TENTING ON THE OLD CAMP GROUND. r>25
to go to the front, he wrote in a few minutes both words and music of " Tenting on the
Old Camp Ground." Like so many other good things in literature and art, this song was
at first refused publication; but an immense popularity sprang at once from the author's
own rendering of it, so that a Boston publisher employed somebody to write a song with a
similar title, and in no long time the Messrs. Ditson brought out the original. Its sale has
reached the hundred thousands, and it is still selling. Mr. Kittredge has written numerous
other songs. He spends his winters in travelling and singing with Joshua Hutchinson,
and his summers at his pleasant home of Pine Grove Cottage, near Reed's Ferry,
New Hampshire.
„ u By permission of Messrs. Oliver Ditson & Co.
4Mw-4r — -N— N+» f —
-P IN, 1 H -, •> --T "-»
J
1. We're tent - ing to - night on the old camp ground, Give us a song to
2. We've been tent - ing to - night on the old camp ground, Thinking of days gone
3. We are tired of war on the old camp ground, Ma - ny are dead and
4. We've been flght - ing to - day on the old camp ground. Ma - ny are ly - ing
n U
K^ A *•
=3 g == | ir_i_ ^
' J ^
"*
— 0 LJ 0 1—0,
J J J J
CvJi-ii-A. 1 f
? i i ?~j
i! i ~i
rl'tfir'* •» * f
*, f \ 0 f «, f «i
f *(
E 33 — 1- * •
— * !5 \-% — * — * — J-*
i 2 i _\
^
•f-
0Lfr — _ ^ s_
-N --*-• ^ • m — -*^H — -N 9 -N
cheer Our wea-ry hearts, a song of home, And
by, Of the lov'd ones at home that gave us the hand, And the
gone, Of the brave and true who've left their homes,
near; Some are dead, and some are dy-ing,
/ 3L*$ J ' * - jj- t
:.-^ £= j_ |^ — J_ :
i *
r^' *
J_ J
*
\pi|r 3 £ -j £
»— — a —
£ i_ J ]
CHORUS.
friends we love so dear.
tear that said "good bye !"
Oth - ers been wound- ed long.
Ma - ny are in tears.
Ma - ny are the hearts that are
f~$ ~ 1
^ - —
1-=,
_
i •
iS
!
i — |* —
2 S
v 1
j
j
526
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
wr ff~ ~s 1" h i 1 f "^ _£_ .^ ~!
^- -^=—
wea - ry to - night, Wish - ing for the war to
Q.Jt ft f •— — f f— — T-» » • * £— "*" i
^/7ftgff £ » -^» • i
-* : — H
cease,
i ~i
8 y . .. |_ [x j.. 1 f ^* 1 2 If • f
U U '/ L^ 1 U
1 1
ps~; *
"F * ' *
— fr — * J * 0
-^ 4 0 * — J
Ma-ny are the hearts looking for the right, To see the dawn of peace.
-0 • 0-
=t
^-
m
v v
*
t — *-=£=£=
Tent - ing to - night, Tent - ing to - night, Tent - ing on the old camp
last v. Dy - ing to - night, Dy - ing to - night, (Omit.)
0m
r — r=f=
E3EE£
U— - u
w
A+±,
^is^t^.:
=P
=^<2
-*-*-
NG ON THE OLD CAMP GROUND.
527
THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.
THIS exquisite song of THOMAS CAMPBELL'S was set to music by THOMAS ATTWOOD.
r\ f
"f — f^T~J — r^?1
0*0.
gr-J ^ ^~ |
i)-^-+-
& ok
bu - gles sung truce, for the n
1 1
ight-cloud had lower'd, And the
1 1 -
sen - ti- nel stars set their
I N, J J , 1
-^g—
--— J i
i R
.n i. a ^
9} jc\ '(**• ^n "^i ^B **
P v -jp -j- -,
^
IV f* I ^ **1
J •*
—3 * *i i* ^ '
^ 1 '—
-JS.
a m *
k C T — * :
Larghetto.
it — f T' i* l~=r~
-f-*—m— s - s-
~^ — F^
* | N N
N^:
fm L y ' t;
v m PR
* • *^ *• \
•j. 1 \ m
*•• •
LMJ 1 ' p •
L' m • m
\ V
$m 9 9 •
watch in the sky, And t
tiousands had sunk on the •.
ground o-verpower'd,The
^* J J X
wea-ry to sleep, and the
x 1 -t-H
13* — g ^ |» ^ — 1^— ^ —
/7S
f ~0' ~^~
&£ — \j ~i ^ — =i — r — ^ —
g
sens
1 '4 ^
^
r
LsJ ^_
«i
Andante moderate.
J>, : N, \_
— f M
— t — — jr~- — K~"
-M —
^ 1 N R~
wound - ed to die ; When re - pos - in.
— F — ^ b
—I/ — | V
I that night or
Dolce.
— if "
•
i my
^—
E» — J j J.^..-A-
pal - let of straw, By the
—z\ 1 | | I _•*_
^t^=^
—
P3F=
_— -^
V 1
r~^
^ 3=r. ~9 " ~' ~ - : 1
y -j. 1
528
OUlt FAMILIAR SONG IS.
dead of the night a sweet vis-ion I saw, And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it a-gain. Me-
-I - N
to*
Agitato.
thought,
from the bat
tie field's
} Ptd.
Fed.
m^^m^
THE SOLDIERS DEE AM.
529
m
^m
far
I had roani'd
on a des
o - late track, 'Twas
m
f>f>
^-r^
F^^F
T^PPE
*
Moderate dolce.
Autumn, and sunshine a - rose on the way To the home of my fathers that welcomed me back ; I
Htf IM J
Mm
4-^-
-J-srtt
^^^nt
-i — i — •
AUtretto,
:5
flew to the pleas- ant fields, traversed so oft In life's morning march when my
* Fed
*
bo-som was young;
I heard my own mount- ain goats bleat-ing a -loft, And
8va.
X
(84)
530
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
knew the sweet strain
that the corn - reap - ers sung.
knew the sweet strain that the
•TfWf
corn - reap - ers sung.
-, — r p i *£ it
I I E 'C
K
Allegretto.
£=
^^
^
flew to the pleas - ant fields, traversed so oft In life's morning march when my
THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.
531
bo-som was young ;
I heard my own mouut- ain goats bleat-ing a - loft, And
8va.
-P & B*
knew the sweet strain that the corn - reap - ers sung,
And
jEEgEEilE i^^^^
/
' — v-
knew
the sweet strain that the corn - reap - ers sung.
V * o
Then
^^
Pitt moto.
Lento.
1 0 , K j
<» * — f.— *N* ~ g g—
=f=^=
pledged we the wine- cup, and
_^ ^ < ±q p — P *— -
fond-ly I swore From my home
_K ^ ^ ^ ^~
and my weep- iug friends
-f — =r-f — c i i F:*
F— r |jn
-T — HH* — EC
L-^— p p t^
£—-• __2-
-^ — *— — »q
EL_£ — -1 ,, I,-- — 3L
? n"~
-f \r- -$-*
532
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
Piu moto. § R
Lento.
U_ 0 — — 0 ==^ — 0—
f • ^5 — f
» o'^l! P-
» • ^o* — » • ^ — *^j
nev - er to part, My
J) J . J J — -=<
«w f p V K U—
lit - tie ones kiss'd me a
thou - sand times o'er, And my
n^T™
<! • — ^— <
1 — J f .
-
FM= =F
J J
1 — 1 — J— J
: 1
= — H — i — ?E 3
» »
9 • 0 0 • ~ 0 0 • - 0 0
f- f- - • *• * -
-T cJ ^jl —
4P si P
' r r
-SP « — P — r— M
^^J —
JUT =1
: b ^ b —
=E — * — b — F =»
espressione.
2L" ~2r r r L_T
r p j
- r, r - p • & r H
frh S b b v - v S
HZ •• V V * *S
w <£_ '"^^^fc
9^
wife sobb'd a - loud in her
*• J~J -^ ^-1
full- ness of heart. " Stay,
I/ r
stay with us, rest, thou art
r— ^ N ^ ^— ,
3F =1 S* •— Vspa b5-
18 *i ^ ^ *i i
—} * d 9. =| 1 —
fm ^ f «HS
-12 frj i
33 i 4
^ \) j» » ' w
0 0^0' 0i
J ,f /
i* i* T" ^2
Qi
f^: =• 1 1 1 =—= 1
p- (•
__. 1
\££ — — * 3 — yt —
-> ^ f b =*-=!-
—\
7£~ J^P! J JP
J K J « ! N "I
fn\j-» Ultt«« « *'r
9 • JJ^1 X
KM * * * "ILW*» L
j i
3 3S
wea - ry and worn ;" And fain was the war - brok- en sol - dier to stay, But
/L. \ l^^llj' ~"VJ
J J
1 S?
\§n J'*J — ^vJ r^S — • 4
3 3T! ^; ^ ^
•
L
*1 *1
H-K I^
•1
V 1
t.' 5
Ed
V ^
/
Ritard e dim.
J- J^ J^-J^
:£-
< B U U
sor - row re-turn'd with the dawn - ing of morn, And the voice in my dream- ing ear
THE SOLDIER' S DREAM.
533
melt - ed a - way
melt - ed a -
way, melt - ed a - way,
THE CAPTIVE KNIGHT.
THE words of " The Captive Knight " were written by MRS. HEMANS, and the music
was composed by her sister, MRS. ARKWRIGHT. The music was very popular, as the stir-
ing march of the approaching army was given, and an interlude which imitated the distant
sounds of its heavy tread, before the plaintive words were sung, "They are gone ! They
lave all passed by," &c. The poem was suggested to the author by Scott's lines in " The
Lady of the Lake " :
The prisoned thrush may brook the cage.
The captive eagle dies for rage.
N ^ animate.
1. 'Twas a trum -pet's peal - ing sound!
I knew 'twas a trum -pet's note!
3. I am here withmyhea - vy chain!
4. Must I pine in my fet - ters here?
And the knight look'd down from the
And I see my breth - ren's
And I look on a tor - rent
With the wild waves' foam and the
A
Pay- nim's tow'r, And a Chris- tian host, in its pride and pow'r, thro' the
lane - es gleam, And their pen - nons wave by the mount - ain stream, and their
sweep - ing by, And an ea - gle rush - ing to the skv, and a
free bird's flight, And the tall spears glanc - ing on my sight, and the
i
-hr~
F£=
r k "
1 ' «l . «.
' T^ — tT~
- -
i . ., J ., f „ j-|
I
L
\
^ ]
^
v
N S
J J
H^n
j 3. j, i.=j
LJL_
j-
-•
/ ^
1 — •
-3 •
=3^-
-'i J "^ ~*
534
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
After each verse.
pass be - neath him wound. )
plumes to the clad wind float. L Cease a -while,
host to its bat - tie plain. (
trum-pet on my ear. J
J-
-
clar - ion wild and shrill!
Cease! let them hear the
J j
tf^HHi — z2
rr — r f r —
* 1
I
^f7 IT
.M
V*
^ "^ ' '
cap - tive's voice : — Be still I
Andante espressivo.
6. They are gone I they have all pass'd by! They in whose wars I had borne my part;
1S11
THE CAPTIVE KNIGHT.
335
Phey that I loved with a broth - er's heart, They have left me here to die!
Soun(T a- gain, clar
Cla - rion, pour thy blast!
« 1
(£2
Sound! for the capt - Ive's dream of hope
m
past!'
4 X-
-4- -4-
THE BATTLE PRAYER.
KARL THEODORE KORNER was born in Dresden, September 23, 1791. Schiller and other
literary men were constant visitors at his father's, and Koruer early showed a passion for
poetry. He joined the army to fight the French, and such was the bravery of the corps in
which he was a lieutenant, that in a succeeding contest Napoleon laid a special plan for
cutting them off. On the morning before Korner's first battle, he composed this "Prayer."
A little later, while waiting in a wood through the night, watching for a detachment of the
French troops, he composed his " Sword Song." In the morning they received the ex-
pected attack, and while repulsing and pursuing the enemy, Korner was exposed to the
fire of both sides, and fell mortally wounded. His " Farewell to Life " is said to have
been written just before he expired, August 16, 1813.
The music to the " Battle Prayer " is the composition of FRIEDRICH HEINRICH HIMMEL,
who was born in Brandenburg, Germany, in 1765. He studied theology at Halle, but aban-
doned that to devote himself to music. He was a reputed son of Fredrick William II.,
whose chapel-master he became. He composed both secular and sacred music, much of
which is still popular in Germany.
536
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
Alto or Tenor.
4i L '.j & •
- s \S
1. Fa - ther, on Thee I call!
1st. Tenor.
Dark - ly the clouds of the
— i 1 K N< 1 N K-^
f ' ~*« — ~3 J ^ — 1
2. Fa - ther, be Thou my guide! Lead me to death or to
2d. Tenor.
-g \f~~f, 1 : 1- • i — -tk- It—
i 1 K jj—
-N— j
O5^ A-
* -uJ J s
- -
v \2 ~* 0 w & 0 * &
In* »"• *
3. Fa - ther, Thy pow'r I own!
ist. & 2d. Bass. |
As in the fall of the
1 > JJ N
t~\* i fi ' i P ^^ *
1 H -\ P
| g -\
I • i I? ** | | 0 i ; '
i 4 — ^ — 0
9 JP *r~\
j?--4 * 0 0 1 -" • '^\ ,
* , p —
1 tr- 3
I ... j,. m j . .
• 9
^zt=±
_^_i.
£SE£
-* — P*-
+- -ft-
bat - tie surround me ; Fierce - ly the sword of the foe flash - es round me.
S2^1 _p..^_^_^=z ElL^TZ;^E^==!;=*==2^==r-fnp-=-f=±rg=g=^=i
^=g ^— ^==P ^=^4-^ '^ — ^=F — =g — pFf — * — P-+ — *-
vie - to - ry lead me, Wher-e'er the cause of my coun-try may need me.
-fr— r m=^=l= =*«=:
leaves in the for - est, So when we yield to the war's i - ron tem-pest.
1 - •'
• ?
~sz__ )~ [I
—--&-; A II
God of the bat - tie, on Thee I call, Fa - ther, be thou my guide.
_J J— ^zj= :rf—J-pp: — 2E3^= EgF1^^ ===PZF=: zT=fl
=3=3-^-^=^1= ->—*-: -^^-^i^j^^
Lord, where Thou wilt, but be Thou my guide, Fa - ther, Thy pow'r I own!
Foun - tain of glo - ry, Thy pow'r I own, Fa -ther, Oh, bless Thy son!
Father, oh bless Thy son !
Calmly my life to Thy hand I deliver
Be Thou its Guardian as Thou wast its giver,
Living or dying, yet bless Thy son !
Father, for this I pray.
Father, to thee I pray,
'Tis for no treasures of earth we're contending,
Holiest of rights with the sword we're defending,
Victor or vanquished, to thee I pray —
Battling, 1 dare to pray.
BINGEN ON THE KHINE.
BINGEN ON THE RHINE.
537
THE words of "Bingen on the Rhine" are by MBS. CAROLINE NORTON. The air was
composed by JTJDSON HUTCHINSON, of the well-known Hutchinson Family of singers. He
was born about 1817, in Milford, New Hampshire. When he was an infant his mother
observed him singing the old tune of " Greenville" correctly. When but a lad, he earned
enough money, by raising vegetables on his father's farm, to buy himself a violin. Fiddles
in those days were looked upon as the direct invention of the evil one, and Judson was
not allowed to bring his treasure to the light. But when his father found him playing two
parts upon it, and accompanying his performance with his melodious voice, his musical
soul was stirred, and the fiddle became a necessary part of all the family concerts. His
music and his own singing of Mrs. Norton's fine lyric, contributed largely to render the
words familiar. Judson Hutchinson died about 1855.
lack of wo - man's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears ; But a
comrade stood be - fore him, while his life-blood ebb'd a - way, And
538
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
$££-* • ,_-*-.,-[-,_,-..
' j - \. I, i, — H -j— H j
-
bent with pi - ty - ing glan-ces
to hear what he might say.
The
he took that com - rade's hand,
S
i
-• *—
said, "I nev - er more shall see my own, my na - tive land ; Take a
=d=£=i=
^ir)7— ^
^=^^
_(• 0-.-.-.
- •«. -1 ••*
i —
f ^ ,
9 \ g
r-f*^-^ ,
J~| f * • ' M
?Vfr
*— — 0 —
=F — ^=-3
-
4=3t
mes-sage and a to- ken to some dis - tant friends of mine; For
1 — 0 — 1_\ .0 . — j
-*• v-» :
rit.
3EE£
5E
I was born at Bin - gen, fair Bin - gen, on the Rhine."
±=. * *
i^j _ »^zn E
— « 1 — 0 '..
BINGEN ON THE RHINE.
/» — *m~
-!=?== ?fe^
-
hear my mourn - ful sto-ry, in the pleas - ant vine - yard ground, That we
fought the bat-tie brave-ly, and when the day was done,
Full
ma -ny a corse lay ghast - ly pale be - neath the set - ting sun ; And
:±-b= I T-l *-.
'midst the dead and dy - ing, were some grown old in wars,
The
540
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
death-wound on their gal -lant breasts, the last of ma - ny scars ;
But
S^^EE^S
I_V i 1 "x^ ' 0 0 -V—
some were young and sud- den - ly be - held life's morn de - cline, An
^-^— T 1
? ^(fer-^^E
f-yV- *- -0 0 j [ ^ — -
gsg=jr-| I i . — j — \ • JL—
\> \J \j ^ i | >j i_ _|
*" one had come from Bin -gen, from
Biu - gen on the Rhine.
Bin - gen, Bin - gen, oh.
Bingen on the Rhine.
•*, ""^Tf~ : ~
-i-0-~ -j. —
^ 3.
A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,
There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears,
But a comrade stood before him, while his life-blood ebbed away,
And bent with pitying glances to hear what he might say.
The dying soldier faltered as he took that comrade's hand,
And he said " I never more shall see my own, my native land ;
Take a message and a token to some distant friends of mine ;
For I was born at Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine.
" Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around,
To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard ground,
That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done,
Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath the setting sun ;
And 'midst the dead and dying were some grown old in wars —
The death-wound on their gallant breast, the last of many scars ;
But some were young and suddenly beheld life's morn decline,
And one had come from Bingen. from Bingen on the Rhine.
BIN GEN ON THE RHINE. 54 !
"Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age,
And I was still a truant bird, that thought his home a cage ;
For my father was a soldier, and when I was a child
My heart leaped up to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild;
And when he died and left us to divide his scanty hoard,
I let them take whate'er they would, but kept my father's sword;
And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine
On the cottage wall at Bingen, at Bingen on the Rhine.
" Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head
When the troops are marching home again, with glad and gallant tread ;
But look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye,
For her brother was a soldier, and not afraid to die.
And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name
To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame,
And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's sword and mine),
For the honor of old Bingen, dear Bingen on the Rhine.
" There's another, not a sister, in the happy days gone by
You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye ;
Too innocent for coquetry, too fond for idle scorning —
Oh ! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning!
Tell her the last night of my life — for ere the moon be risen
My body will be out of pain, my soul be out of prison —
I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine
On the vine-clad hills of Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine.
" I saw the blue Rhine sweep along, I heard or seemed to hear
The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear,
And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill,
The echoing chorus sounded through the evening calm and still;
And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed with friendly talk,
Down many a path beloved of yore, and well remembered walk.
And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine —
But we'll meet no more at Bingen — loved Bingen on the Rhine."
His voice grew faint and hoarser, his grasp was childish weak,
His eyes put on a dying look, he sighed and ceased to speak.
His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled ;
The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land was dead.
And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down
On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corpses strewn.
Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine,
As it shone on distant Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine !
THE HEATH THIS NIGHT.
" THE Heath this night must be my bed," is the song of Norman in SCOTT'S " Lady of
the Lake." Several airs have been written for the song, but I think the one that follows is
the work of Joseph, Count Mazzinghi. This distinguished composer was born in England
in 1760. His mother was English, but his father was descended from an ancient Tuscan
family. He developed musical ability so early, that he became director of the opera house
•when but eighteen years old, and he once restored the orchestral parts of a lost opera of
Paeisiello's from memory. His own operas—" Paul and Virginia," " The Bund Girl," " The
Turnpike Gate," &c., were very popular, and Scott thanked him warmly for the manner in
which he adapted several of his lyrics. Mazziughi died in 1844.
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
mor - row eve' more stil - ly laid, My
fond re-gret must Nor -man know; When
if re - turned from conquered foes, How
THE HEATH THIS NIGHT.
cres.
543
couch may be my
bursts clan Al - pine
blithe - ly will the
blood - y plaid,
on the foe,
eve - ning close,
My
His
How
ves - per song.... thy
heart must be like
sweet the lin - net
gWrtf-.
ritard a tempo.
— ^ffifc-*^ ^1=2--?-
^r— ^ — i
• '
»' f S* "W ~m — "' ' II
~j*- ^**W ^~
wail, swee
u LJ j
t maid! It will not
wak - en
bend - ed
bow, His foot like
ar - row
free, Ma-ry!
sing re
- pose, To my young
bride and
me Ma-ry!
-en-f^* ^
y i-Z— 1?» • .j?
<mP — -• — — «-
-rffl f *~ +• X
galWfc &=ti :g-
M =*^
_s_?_^=i2.ZIZS£^^
^—^r=^p
^± \tt .
-^sJ-'-^-L^ — *-
a tempo. A. V
-qs— i 1?~ -?-
— _. IE *~
*i
1^*1
^ •^>
f 7
^-r^rHM^
p
— •— i {£ ; —
•*
-J |P^
(
\55
THE WOUNDED HUSSAR.
THE words of this song were written by THOMAS CAMPBELL, and the music was com-
posed by D. C. HEWITT, a Scotsman by birth, whose musical career has been principally in
London, where he settled in 1819. He wrote a valuable work on musical harmony.
John Black, the well-known editor, in a letter to Dr. Charles Mackay, under date of
June 25, 1852, says: "Your friend, Tom Campbell, affected to be annoyed when his
'Wounded Hussar' superseded every other ballad in the streets of Edinburgh, something
more than fifty years ago."
poco lento.
1. A - lone on the banks of the dark rolling Danube, Fair
2. From his bo- som that heav'd the last tor-rent was streaming, And
3."Thon slialt live" she replied, "Heaven's mer - cy re - liev-ing, Each
A - de-laide hied when the
pale \v;is his vis- age, deep
an -guishing wound shall for-
w
H-t-
-^
— f—
•»
-g
m
—•—*—
* 1
-1 ~
— f— rtf — « — f —
5 I
— L-
9 7
if "9 f •
~~i
™
1
u
_ • 0
\j * v
bat - tie
mark'd with
bid me
-» j—
was
a
to
o'er,
scar,
mourn
-j
"Oh, whith
And dim
," "Oh no,
^_ 4f
• er"
was
the
she cried,
that, eye,
last pang
"hast thou wander'd,
once ex -press -ive
in my bo - gom
my
- Iv
is
lov - er, Or
braining. That
heav-insr. No
— 2
2_£-
*
9" '
— * —
9
A
• ,_ r
—
_i 1
544
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
fe=l
i*~f *£
5
0 * "— ^
: • •• td - 0
— i*~~p* —
7 <*
-'
1
4:; ^ -^-H
)
J
; £
0 • 0
where dost thou wel -ter and bleed on the shore? What voi
melt - ed in love or that kin -died in war; How sm
light of the morn shall to Hen - ry re - turn ; Thou cha
~, "^" ~fc_
-Of ~ar -r— *•
ce h
t \v
rm - <
— r^ft'
ive J heard? 'twas mv
as fair A - de - laioe'8
?r of life ev - er
• '»
~&
m
Z* i
•f 1 •»
1
9 *
«f —
— s
-i--is^^-
=s s s ••
»
— s—
/L\? -
; t
— ^£_
3 — — a — 0—\-*
• * EEfi
- — 1_
_*,
\~* — —
--**< —
* ..
*? -H
Hen - ry's that sigh'd." All mournful she hasten'd nor
heart at the sight, How bit - ter she wept o'er the
ten - der and true, Ye babes of my love that a -
<Xi_ * -*— =
* * * 5- » fi
waoder'd she fur. When
vie - tim of war. "Hast thou
wait me a - far." His
' —^ v ~
— ^-j |J— . r m
b
9 r
• i ; ^ • '
* ~ ** 0
•
3 . i •
-0
— 0 — n
=zc •, — i
^
— N—
4 r* — sr
9
'— 0
^~ =s-f^
b
c
fj
A : —
t, ~^A
^-T_*_
h— : »—
t.
> ^
•=» '• ^ '
}*. FT
leed - ing and low on the heath she descried By the
ame, my fond love, this last sor - row - ful night, To
lit - er - ing tongue scarce could mur - mur a - dieu, Then he
light
cheer
sank
of the moon, her poor
the lone heart of your
in her arms — the poor
Q-, — f .. ... i
Z n T '
S * 3 *- 3
-i
0
-? - 3
^ -V
1 * * * i
__j_ 1 J
lpEd§3 — 7—
wound-ed Hus •
wound-ed Hus-
wound-ed Hus -
•0-
sar, By the
sar, To
sar, Then he
light of the mooi
cheer the lone hear
sank in her arms
b
i he
b c
— tl
r poor
f your
le poor
—
wound -
wound -
wound
•0-
ed Hussar,
ed Hussar?"
• ed Hussar.
fy - —
£^\*
_ •
'*3
m
r
j
m II
bSEr*: »
— ^_
~ i
\
1 —
!,
— f— M
i — p 1 1/ —
...<2 .
« 1 H
THE DEATH OF WARREN.
"THE death of Warren" was written by EPES SARGENT, expressly for the music and
singing of WILLIAM E. DEMPSTER.
General Joseph Warren, then but thirty-five years old, was President of the Provincial
Congress, and at the time of the battle of Bunker Hill, had just been made a Major-General.
At a meeting of the committee of safety held before the engagement, his friends earnestly
strove to dissuade him from exposing himself. " I know that I may fall," said Warren, " but
where is the man who does not think it glorious and delightful to die for his country?-'
He took a musket, and went unattended to the battle-field. General Putnam immediately
offered him the command ; but he answered, " I have come to take a lesson of a veteran
soldier in the art of war. Tell me where I can be useful." " Go to the redoubt," said Put-
nam ; u you will there be covered." " I came not to be covered," he replied ; " tell me where
I shall be in most danger; tell me where the action will be hottest." When Colonel Prescott
gave the order to retreat, Warren did not obey. He lingered till the very last, and was re-
luctantly retreating, when Major Small, of the British army, called out to him by name, begging
him to surrender, and ordering hismen to cease firing. On hearing this demand, Warren turned
his face to the foe disdainfully, received a shot in his forehead, and died instantly. The British
General said that Warren's death would offset the loss of five hundred of his own troops.
With all these facts in view, does not the far-famed and much-praised action of Gen>
eral Warren seem the merest hardihood and boyish rashness, and the sacrifice of his life
most inexcusable? Had he really "learned the art of war from a veteran," the result
would have been very different. At that critical time, his life was invaluable to his country^
while nothing whatever was gained by his death.
THE DEATH OF WAREEN.
a tempo.
545
Whfin the war - cry of lib - or - ty rang through the land,
To
m
a=±=t
3=fa~ll~«— 3S-
arms sprang our fa - thers, the foe to with-stand ; On old Bun-ker
ra//.
Hill their entrenchments they rear, When the ar - my is joined by a
iziizizzzii" : ij ^ i — i — d — 3— if — i" f 1 — 4^ -«-••-}• — i T:4 — if
I i J • — i 3 — L^ 1- ^ -I — L^— 4. — 1 1-0 4-
^.^4 -+ ^ •*• ^5^* •*-^*^ •*• •*':£'*• •*
youu"- vol - unteer. "Tempt not death !" cried his friends ; but he bade them good-bye, Saying—
i
_ — 1
*- -t* — i—i-
~f — 1~^~ :
3
st " i st
546
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
CL f — 4=0—, — — p —
r S— i
f '^? -
:r-po } =^
"Oh ! it is
-r- U '—
sweet for our
— f—
coun - try to
~^ \ "' j~"
-r * 1
die."
^D
— ^ —
— i -—i—
[ | *? ^^]
t
* /
i ~m - ' •* •?
. j
— f!-
0* •
-5 ? ;r—
- 3- ? :
^ I ;
EJr
0— - — — 0 — i * — — ^
The tern - pest of
Agitato con brio.
bat - tie
now ra - ges and
I
swells, 'Mid the thun - der of can-non, the peal - ing of bells ; And a
->-
light,
not of bat - tie,
il - lumes yon - der
gggg^l
spire
— Scene of
-J2L
woe —
8-
Scene of woe,
-a »— a —
J
'tis Charles - town on
fire !
The
--
=£
^
THE DEATH OF WARREN.
54?
young vol - un - teer
heedeth not
the sad cry, But
m
a tempo, e dolce.
~E±:
mur - murs, 'tis sweet for our coun - try to die!"
Tis
sweet, Oh ! 'tis sweet for our coun - try to
die!
Agitato.
^
"With trum - pets and ban - ners
the foe draw - eth
near; A w>l - ley of mus-ket - ry checks their ca - rccr! With the
,- -K-
f
_\ ,—
3.
-«*-
548
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
=iE E£E£E =^= ^^
L±= E^IZZZI EE
=±
dead
and the dy - ing
the hill - side
is strown, And the
I i r r~ . - 1 rT^TTi — >• — —
^ — i — j^i . . — . —
-1
"/
§S:
Moderate.
i- :=*=?-
i-^* • i
r
» j
^
-r-
r =}—
* —
_* — f *_
^i ytf 1
shout thro' our
_C * —
line is, "the
d;ij
, — i
r iS O
ur
0\\
n. "Not
yet," cries the
1 ^ ••••••• ••••^•H—
Jt=4— i— i-
ZJ
— i~
— i — :
-, i i i — n^~~ i ' ij
r^^ — A A
-
<
§
|
A
V1 ly p"
:
•
•
999&W0*
1
*
f
•
•
•h
r-— --
^
f
P
P\« i \ i
•
— A —
} —
\
n — ^
\s 4 i. L
3 —
u
-^
i
ra//.
.
young
vol -un - teer.
"Do they fly! Stand firm! stand firm! 'tis
1 1
^ — ^•'•-i — 1 -f- --- •;
T~^
-1 / /
/• rail.
a tempo, e dolce.
3
sweet
Oh! 'tis sweet
for our coun - try to
die!
'Tis
d 1 i n — j— i r
:j^^j=l~j~3 — ju
— *-
-j
P colla voce.
zd
s;i-^3
JZT=:
sweet, Oh I 'tis sweet
for our coun - try to die !
Agitato.
^ — I — i~:
^
^S^
THE DEATH OF WARREN.
549
» 0—5 K 1 J J7
Nowour POW -der is spent and they ral - ly ' ^~.
*S(-
gain;
-*• •*• * eJ
"Re-treat!" says our chief, "since un - armed we re - main." But the
, : „ — ^__< ^
1
young
\o\ - un - teer
lin - gers yet on the field,
Re -
»-r+t+
^\
5i=:
f^4J=tEE?E
_i> L»< — L^ L.
luc- tant to fly and dis - dain -ing to yield.
A shot!
|==^=J:
ff
ff
Fed.
Adagio con molto. pp
rail.
_iJ;n=~Sp =^=^LL .^^
-j-^'a^. -dr-^-^~
he falls ! but his life's la-test sigh Is, " 'tis
y
550 OUR FAMILIAR SONGS,
a tempo con espressione.
-±
sweet Oh! 'tis sweet for our coun - try to die! ">Tis
S3EEEE3E
..
colla voce.
4=*
mm
r:
sweet, Oh! 'tis sweet
for our coun - try
/TN
to
/T\
die!
SZld ZilZItlZj IL
i
j
-V- _• 4 — j A _)
_£f - * - /' * '
(m — -{-_* » 0 * * * —
And thus War -ren
fell!
r-4-
i. SL
5 b i b 1
hap - py death ! no - ble
t [ i I I
ppp Adagio.
A
f
__i j_J___ i i_
*^
fi
— > ~T~* 1 i —
i ^~ :i ^~^ir«-,*~T~"f2: —
-Q —
J =H=:I 1—
— H
r^^//. ad lib.
EEE
t=::z^z=t
fall 1 To per - ish for coun - try at Lib - er - ty's call ! Should the
J.OL& ij&A±n ujf WAUMMjy.
fe=z£ =fl -f—t^c p==s : z^z: *-z4-B-
55]
_^li|
— t? u3 — ' — * 1 ^~^ — *—
blue of our seas, or the green of our shore, May
-J-J
the
tr T | j »• — 1—£
7|
^- -t- -M- -i~ ~i -I-
^
= 3 H— — ^ -^— - 4-
1
l/fc — h T — M — ' — -^ i* 1 f~ — <>'__ g=t
fg> zzp —
sweet Oh! 'tis sweet for our coun - try to
die! . '"Tis
^r ' -*. — * -0- * -0- f -0- -^ -0- -0- •*•
* •*•-;•*• ' •••
— 9: a — ~L
~ * * 5
3
n * h M— * — '
IF i" ^-'•-T —a — ~— E — — i — 1 :v3 iT~
M ^*~ -^
~. (ff • —
PIT: c J=i=^ £- EzO
sweet, Oh ! 'tis sweet for our coun - try to
: :j. J
^~* * 3 ~H" * * * * * * y? /f~
d' -t 1
tz::^- — 5-
/^ /
Z5J-T—
\p-_.^. . igg l-t -^:.
- - «.
Nl ?
552
OUR FAMILIAR SOX OS.
THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL.
WILLIAN Ross WALLACE, author of "The Sword of Bunker Hill," was born in Lex-
ington, Kentucky, in 1819. He was the son of a Presbyterian clergyman. After com-
pleting a college course, he studied law ; but having been successful with some poetical
ventures, he went to New York, where he long resided, devoting himself to the most
ephemeral kind of literature, and died in 1883. He published several volumes of poetry.
The music of the song was composed by BERNARD COYERT, who still appears occasion-
ally in concerts, and especially delights in singing this song.
0 3 Jr |S \ I
Jf^tt 8 v a a *-: — S - — jr~
fr + f
^-i M K i
Ep-*-7P- V ' 1 L ' J <>' J
1. He lay up - on his dy-ing bed; His
2. The sword was brought, the sol-dier's eye Lit
j?y «! i i | i j I i | i ! | | 1 i
_f — f — p. — b — ^ L^JJ — i
— i E — i^ 1 ^ — i
eye was growing dim, When
with a sud-den Same; And
JP — ^- *L J-'-l^ * j^ -1J4^ *
3j;j i jJ
^•^ 2 ^-
(aatt i — [T"^" zc n
-& f- \
«S( ^
i ' r
~T \
"1
UK-* — ^ — p — ^ — J 1 js — £— Is 1
A fl ^-v -J-|
-d- --r-iM
— b — 7 — h~ —•— —* — i
with a fee - ble voice he call'd His we
as h6 grasp'd the an - cient blade, He mi
/ffi^^^^-j IM-G:
J b f~ _Jt=d
^p-ing son to him: "Weep
ir-mured WAR- REN'S name: Then
[p J jjjij 1^ J J^ 1^
£— J ^^-
<^J J- _
fg)g » ^ -*-i* -(
_
1
\F*s # — p \ T^m
— 1
>. ^ "1
> •"• to . U
o N
r c ^ -
. QJ g ; ; -T ,
^ i ^
— 1 N a— T 1
it^f — r~^ ~B — f~^ ~r — f — F — r~- — ^»~
r * ^^ -i 4
ifU j K u
9 ' m \j r
BZ V </ - V V \j \ PH
V \ V I
not, my boy!" the vet' - ran said, "I
said, "My boy, I leave you gold, — But
r 1 if
bow to Heav'n's high will,— But
what is rich - er still, I
J » £ =1 a— {*=!
$ j f^1 J^^ '
s y
*
-ft7 -*- -»- ^
ggg/ ^ • F- -sdi
r^r^ r — ^j-pLi ^ — -
xl:^_* — 1 \J& It 1
IS f K. ^ -^— ,
fo fl — -4s — -j 4s — jx J — -f-= — ^— -^
— i* — E — *^-
-F ^-^
quick - ly from yon ant - lers bring The Swo
leave you, mark me, mark me now— The Swo
rd of Bun- ker
rd of Bun - ker
"•£-••?-+-
Hill; But
Hill; And
1
P — * * MJ'-JL * -J-'-i; ^
1 r^ s* D
^j'y*1 ^ ^ — — — p
— — i j [—& — •
•tt
— " — r — r
THE SWOED OF BUNKER HILL.
553
Eg
S
1
quick - ly from yon ant - lers bring The sword of Bun - ker
leave you, mark me, mark me now — The Sword of Bun - ker
Hill.
Hill.
" 'Twas on that dread, immortal day,
I dared the Briton's band,
A captain raised this blade on me —
I tore it from his hand ;
And while the glorious battle raged,
It lightened freedom's will —
For, boy, the God of freedom blessed
The sword of Bunker Hill.
" Oh, keep the sword ! " — his accents broke —
A smile — and he was dead —
But his wrinkled hand still grasped the blade
Upon that dying bed.
The son remains; the sword remains —
Its glory growing still —
And twenty millions bless the sire,
And sword of Bunker HilL
THE DEATH OF NELSON.
THE words of this song were written by MR. S. J. ARNOLD, who was proprietor of the
English opera, in London, and manager of Drury Lane Theatre, where he first broughl
Edmund Kean.
The music was composed by JOHN BRAHAM, who was bora in London, of Jewish
parents in 1774. He was early left an orphan, but found friends who helped him to cu]
veto his musical talent until he became a teacher of the pianoforte. His
especially for vocal music, and in 1794 he made his first appearance in Bath as i
singer. In the same year he first exhibited his wonderful powers to London audiences.
Anxious to perfect his singing, he started for Italy, giving successful concert. » by jtfce way^
He returned to London and appeared in Covent Garden Theatre in 1801, and fron tat
til hemthe first rank among English singers. He also stood high among composers of
opera and song music. Braham possessed a fine character. Hei^y Phmu>s says < rf hnn :
"He was, take him altogether, a most extraordinary personage, highly gifted an better
educated than musicians generally; he had an expansive and creative mm ;™^1
with a glorious voice, full, round, and flexible, master of many languages, *
cal declaimer he was perfect."
554
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
n RECIT. Larghetto.
* /,
1 • m 3 Z
kh (' * r r 1
=
-*-!" J K ••
foi "V*1 ' d
*=R4-C r r r— iLc-
O'er Nelson's tomb, with silent grief op- prest, Brittauuia mourns her he-ro ! now at rest : But those bright
XL {* i y
[~~~ £
-^ 1 si '
—±— — S—
=J
.
•»
-^— ~
^ 1
S$i
-^ — 1 ^ '
1 1 — 1
l£^ ( * 1 — S —
—
1 !!
-*- — *-
-^-
•yr * f^-N» — N P ^ —
"T^i — FT~i iT~f — *~
-f—
H+~m —
fin i • hJ 35 * J h
i i L r
* i±* *
j »^
lisly / -* *
J J J i' !/
n »
lau - rels will not fade with
vearSjWhose leaves are wa-ter'd by a na-tion's tears.
A ^"~
Jf &
_<2 :
1: sd
$F\ — F&D — "
ry •
— 'p «£ m
J^t^
IM« \*>^
!
•
] v.^
^f - - *jgr-
f^~
A_A«
IcA
1 •
s* •
— " P — ^ —
"*- ri^
TTd
—f —
r
*r^: — — -• I
Trumpets.
^
m
Ores.
:C±f
^^"
^&=f^^'~ =q=
V* 1 -. • * * « 1
^ 1
^ -^=-^- ^ ' J -^-
1. Twas in Tra - fal - gar's bav
2. And now the can-nons roar
S)tt ^ 1
-^-* r r c r F-- = — •
We saw the foe - men lay ;
A - long th'affright- ed shore,
&- , __ mi\
U U v \ — • — f— sr, L L L L
^R
Each
Our
L_
/
pjLjq p.
-Lpr r r *
H U i
= n
N*
\fc^i 1 1
' *f^{
— i —
JJJ J,
>•
THE DEATH OF NELSON,
f
555
P
heart was bound - ing then;
Ncl - son led the way;
ta
We scorn'd the for - eign yoke,
His ship, the Vic- fry named;
Fer our
Long
ships were Brit - ish oak,
be that vie - fry famed,
And hearts of oak our
For vie - fry crown'd the
f
-H-R-
^
ad lib.
T==f
-J
Nel - son mark'd them on the wave,Three cheers our gal - lant sea -men gave, Xor
dear - ly was that con- quest bought, Too well the gal - lant he - ro fought, For
thought of home or beau-ty,
Eng - land, home, and beau-ty,
Nor thought of home, or heau-ty.
For Eng - land, home, and beau-ty."
A-
He
556
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
• ••Q fi 4r 1 j 1
__ f <T U- 1 j 1
2 _ZS J W
I", J J - |
i
I"1 1 1
F=
— ^ — i —
[— j 1— |
g*-— J » *
loug the line the
cried, &s 'midst the
<Vk It I**4 1 J "1 J "1 J *i
sig - nal rang, 1 " Eng - land ex -
fire he ran, )
FHH~rl ' -- 3
- G> «v ]
pects that
ev' - ry
(ft8*/ C i ^ *h~
=5=#=M-
/ ^
[j J J-^
-«
.
i^^_-_____^_____^
—
-
628 — p—L^—Li--^
-* p ^ *
^f J — Jr-
L-£2 1
^_J — 1
man This day will do his du-ty, This day will.... do his du - ty.
^ T!
Slower.
fiy-H- ' • *—+ — f — ^ x J
r - r r — p — p— «— r- 3E
\> ) 4
! b i
tj r
At last the fa- tal wound, Which spread dis-may a- round, The he - ro's
/ 29. ^''J • * • 4 S * .« ^* • ^ 5^
Ifm «.^ _^5 la'prptiS^
l HZ WJVJ" ta* +»* ^J^4
13 -*-^ ' * -2- f
1 ,
1 /^v r
_ _ p 3^ 3
L^' i •* • •
• •
\ k^ * •
3
p Q
k? H^-!
A 1
^T ^^ P Qj2 1 _| [ 1^
S* 0 H^ ^
[(T\ i ' * j«J j • J
I •*• » W • i W * »>^j •*•
^ 1 1 1 !C L_« =L_= t_l
— W — * —
;eiv'd ;" Heav'n fights up - on our side! The
n
y ,
r. |
f\ I V 1 ^» S» j ^»
tr-J S cW id m
j i tt3
tr^^ -^- -1-^- -^- -L^- -^- -^r-
J 1 ' '
=3 1 -^
(E5 ^-S^rH 5?— -* 5? 9 £—
— •— -*- — 3 — •—
THE DEATH OF NELSON.
557
(1
— .
^-^
-j — i
% F^F~
"•3~~i
p-*r-
1 1
KB — *E=. — -* — = *—
day's our own," he
cried !
/•>
^P
"Now
.ttj -^ ,
long e - nough I've
J «H M ^ « S «H
lived! In
1 _
*' fe •»
•
§pP
*j=|
F^Ff
^ N^
J
^ •
L1_J " — nr
-f-
'
MH
Oittf 1 i
manao.
f<
IitSjJ- h»
i
1
i
flT ft " P * J
-d 1 N
-P
— t «
!
-_J
1 ^r—
-^ ^—
--r
f
-^ ^~
hon - or's cause my life was pass'd, In hon - or's cause I fall at last, For
A^^O^W M ' ' _J^| ' fc ^^
.
jr *£ M tf M J M I M
1 K
•
*1 •
1 J 1
1 ^«
KM J 1
H — • — J /
1 *
-^ — ai i— £ —
_^_ i_ — n 1
+J * • "W"
^%^— 1 J J J
— -•• ^ p £•<?//« I
-V — f — 1f— ^
<oce.
~*
1 j. jg
r?
BSJf « * • ™
— «
— «
<
<f -m
-*,
• -ttJ
^L •
— i -•
J.^JrlN
-4 ' * -J- V — v — ' —
^-£— F
Eug - land, homo, and beau-tv,
For Eng - land, home, and beau-ty." Thus
legato.
eas
^^
Pt
f f
f *
^=^=
^
-#
end - ing life as he be - gan, Eng -land con- fess'd that ev' - ry
X
ri j i a
i
l
IM J
I h> J — J
558
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
t fl
V
That day had done his du - ty, That day had done his du - ty.
THE GRAVE OF BONAPARTE.
HENRY S. WASHBTJRN, who wrote the words of this song, is a native of Plymouth,
Mass. He was educated at Brown University, and went into business in Worcester, and
afterwards at East Boston, as a manufacturer of wire. He has been a member of the Mas-
sachusetts Senate, and now resides in Boston. Among his numerous fugitive poems, one
on the burial of Mrs. Adoniram Judson, on the island of St. Helena, was set to music by
Mr. Heath, and has enjoyed considerable celebrity.
LYMAN HEATH, composer of the music, was born in Bow, New Hampshire, August 24,
1804, and was a noted vocalist and composer. He died in Nashua, which had been his
home for thirty-five years, June 30, 1870.
U I \> s >,
^ p P2-J
0
- •
^TJ? (T J J
-_ 0 * 1
— i — *- • —
— 0 1 n —
— * — j • —
1. On a lone bar -ren isle, where the wild roar - ing
2. Oh, shade of the might - y, where now are the
3. Yet, spir - it im - nior - tal, the tomb can - not
bil - low, As -
le - gions, That
bind thee, For
, i
(j^-Er- \—
-y — j — j j_
—9 — j-
-f — f — y '
=3 — 8=35=5-
i,-\* k, i
i r-1 H ' '
•0- -0- -0-
— d 1
Jr- ^~E^_ ? i
...« j
H
tt= _^,
*'*'(• * ~
-0 0- — * —
—r—. *—
= z r—
W—L \f=Z-
sails the stern
rush'd but to
like thine own
i- v — t — i- » — b-
rock, and the loud tern - pests
con -quer when thou ledst them
ea -gle, that soar'd to the
5 *=Jb =£=^__d
rave, The he - ro lies'
on ; A - las t.lu-y liavo
sun, Thou spring - est from
W M J •» J
t*\ *i ^
-*•-»-»•
5?^: r-
— ; — s — z—
-0- -0- -0-
^ — m
» • /
-1
* • •»
/ . - / - -j _.
-0. _ .
i a— -
_J 1
i — j j
i /
— J — . —
-0 —
THE GRAVE OF BONAPARTE.
559
rjrlrzq : ^ £35 r
f^ r} M yf j
H^_^-
r i •-- v-* —
_=v ,--— _=s_j,
still, while the d
per - is'd in 1
bond - age, and 1
-« -«
3W - droop-ing
ar hil - \j
eav - est be -
— * &E —
wil - low, Like fond
re - gions, And all
hind thee, A name
^j |y ^3~
weeping mourn - ers leans
save the fame of their
which be - fore thee no
"TH r-^-i
•jf—^y — w — 2 —
^
— 5 — -5 — 1-= — 0 — -0 — -• — n
Vr^\ y 1 , • i
/ 5 £ 2
i i 1
i / 0. 0 ^ i
TO *l *i *)" '
00 0
9, 9, * 1 9
9 9 1 099
"I" ~*~ ~f
1*-* 0 *
f •
f~\* 1, .
zSzzf: 7
— T 7
F__ 2_ ^ —
?— ^ ?
•*• •
£-fck—s rv h i 1
-*• •
|..^. .
T
--^Tr — T—T^T
'-?• « ^
KTizt — S£*-F-
i f_4-i — {
^ — j — _^
^=^—tt-t
[i £ H^ -^ — 1
o - vcr the grave. The light -nings may flash, and the loud thunders rat -tie, He
tri - umph is gone. The trum -pet may sound and the loud can -non rat- tie, They
mor - tal had won. Tho' na - tions may com - bat, and war's thunders rat -tie, No
heeds
heed
more
not, he hears
not, they hear
on the steed
not, he's free
not, they're free
wilt thou sweep
from all pain;
from all pain;
o'er the plain ;
He sleeps his last
They sleep their last
Thou sleep'st thy last
mm
sleep, he has fought his last
sleep, they have fought their last
sleep, thou hast fought thy last
bat - tie,
bat - tie,
bat - tie,
No
N«>
No
sound
sound
sound
can a
can a
fan a
560
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.
CHARLES WOLFE, author of the following lyric, was born in Dublin, Ireland, December
14, 1791. He was educated partly in England, and partly at Trinity College, Dublin. At the
latter place he wrote the poems which have made him famous. He was naturally studious
and thoughtful, and took orders in the Established Church. He died Feb. 21, 1823.
Medwin, in his " Conversations of Lord Byron/' tells of a discussion that Byron and
others held as to which was the most perfect ode in the language. Shelley contended for
Coleridge's on Switzerland, and, after Campbell and others had been canvassed, Byron said :
" I will show you an ode you have never seen, th.it I consider little inferior to the best
which the present prolific age has brought forth." He left the table, and returned with a
magazine from which he read " The Burial of Sir John Moore." After closing, he repeated
the third stanza, and said it was perfect, particularly the lines :
" But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him."
" I should have taken the whole for a rough sketch of Campbell's," said Shelley.
"No," replied Byron, "Campbell would have claimed them if they had been his."
The historian says it was daylight when Sir John Moore was buried; but the
' " struggling moonbeams," and the " lantern dimly burning," will be forever present to the
mind. Eev. H. J. Symonds, who performed the funeral service, says the officers of the staff
carried the body to the grave which had been prepared for it on one of the bastions of the
citadel, and, it being daylight, the enemy discovered that the troops had been withdrawing
and embarking during the night. A fire was opened upon the ships, the brief funeral ser-
vice was said, under fire of the guns, and the body was silently lowered in its " martial
cloak." The poem was first published, anonymously, in the Newry Telegraph.
The music is .the composition of JOHN BARNETT, an eminent English composer, who
was born in Bedford in 1802. His father was a London jeweller, who when he saw his
son's musical capacity, placed him under the tuition of Mr. Arnold, then manager of
Drury Lane. Barnett developed a fine voice and taste, and was soon given the first place
THE BURIAL Ot SIR JOHN MOORE.
.se everythmg more or less, aud pause to give a reason for the fifth thaUs in s ut we
must content onrse TOs with saying tbat Mr. Bamett has surpassed hio.self in the b a, Int
he has nvaUed the ballet in the concerted pieces and choruses, and that he has shown MD
self to be excelled by no living English composer in instrumentation."
Andante.
sEElfezEiJL.
±-$~£±3r
wm
— N N Kr
EiEBEjj
iX- i^-' • "-i
>
ir
Not a drum was heard, not a f „ - neral note, as hi. corse to the ram - parts we
Not a sol - dier dis - charged his fare -well shot O'er the
grave, where our he - ro we bu - ried.
We bu - ried him dark - ly at
i
- — ^
pEf^E
•V ' krf-
*-* — « •-
fcras
D ft.
— _ _ r
v 1^ — > — n
dead of night, The turf with our bay - o - nets turn - ing,
By^he
|E ; ; f~
^^^^
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
strugg -ling moon -beam's mis - ty light, And the Ian - terns dim - ly
-* 3r
r 5 i r r r •*
^MSg u
""!»' " :
burn -ing;
By the strugg - ling moon - beam's mis - ty light, And our
— s=
'p
N
^5
j
1
— ^
i
•--
(== — =H
»•••'
J—r
- *
-*— r —
H
Ian - terns dim - ly
burn - ing.
Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note,
As his corse to the ramparts we hurried ;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O'er the grave, where our hero we buried.
We buried him darkly at dead of night,
The turf with our bayonets turning,
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,
And the lanterns dimly burning.
Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow ;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,
And we bitterly thought on the morrow.
No useless coffin confined his breast;
Nor in sheet nor in shroud we bound him —
But he lay, like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him !
We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed,
And smoothed down his lonely pillow, [head,
That the foe or the stranger would tread o'er his
And we far away on the billow.
Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him —
But nothing he'll reck if they'll let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him !
But half our heavy task was done,
When the clock tolled the hour for retiring;
And we heard the distant and random gun
That the foe was sullenly firing.
Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the field of his fame fresh and gory —
We carved not a line, we raised not a stone,
But we left him alone with his glory 1
ALL QUIET ALONG THE POTOMAC.
ALL QUIET ALONG THE POTOMAC.
THIS famous song has had many claimants ; but when the matter is looked into, only
two remain about whose right to it there can be any serious discussion. These are LAMAR
FONTAINE and MRS. ETHEL LYNN BEERS.
Mr. Fontaine was born at Gay Hill, Texas. In 1840 his father moved to Austin, and
was secretary to General Lamar, after whom the son was named. The family removed
again, and young Fontaine describes himself as fond of all the pastimes of a wild frontier
life, and says it was his delight to slip away from home and live among the Indians. He
became a major in the Confederate army. After the war he wrote : " I have been endeav-
oring to eke out a living as pedagogue, with a helpless wife and child dependent upon my
daily labors, with poor pay, and a cripple too; for I received eleven wounds during the war,
and have lost my right limb."
In reply to a letter from Mr. Davidson, author of " Living Writers of the South," Mr.
Fontaine says: "Now, the poem in question was written by me while our army lay at
Fairfax Court-House, or rather the greater portion, in and around that place. On the 2d
day of August, 1861, 1 first read it to a few of my messmates, in Company I, 2d Virginia
Cavalry. During the month of August I gave away many manuscript copies to soldiers,
and some few to ladies in and about Leesburg, Loudon Co., Va. In fact, I think that most
of the men belonging to the 2d Virginia, then commanded by Colonel Eadford, were aware
of the fact that I was the author of it. I never saw the piece in print until just before the
battle of Leesburg (October 21, 1861), and then it was in a Northern paper, with the notice
that it had been found on the dead body of a picket. I hope the controversy between
myself and others, in regard to ' All Quiet along the Potomac to-night,' will soon be for-
ever settled. I wrote it, and the world knows it; and they may howl over it, and give it to
as many authors as they please. I wrote it, and I am a southern man, and I am proud of
the title, and am glad that my children will know that the South was the birthplace of their
fathers, from their generation back to the seventh."
Mr. Fontaine mentions other poems of his, which are " non-come-at-able just now/''
and he encloses a manuscript of the disputed poem which differs very slightly from ita
contestant.
Mr. Davidson also publishes a letter on the subject, written by Mr. Chandler Harris, of
Georgia, in the course of which he says : " After a careful and impartial investigation of
all the facts in my reach, I have come to the conclusion that Mrs. Beers, and not Mr.
Fontaine, wrote the poem in question. My reasons for believing that Mr. Fontaine is not
the author of < All Quiet/ are several :
"1. The poem appeared in Harper's Weekly for November 30, 1861, as 'The Picket
Guard/ over the initials of Mrs. Ethel Beers, of New York. 2. It did not make its appear-
ance in any Southern paper until about April or May, 1862. 3. It was published as having;
been found in the pocket of a dead soldier, on the battle-field. It is more than probable
that the dead soldier was a Federal, and that the poem had been clipped from Harper.
4. I have compared the poem in Harper with the same as it first appeared in the Southern
papers, and find the punctuation to be precisely the same. 5. Mr. Fontaine, so far as I have
seen, has given elsewhere no evidence of the powers displayed in that poem. I, however,,
remember noticing in the Charleston Courier, in 1863 or 1864, a 'Parodie' (as Mr. L. F.
had it) on Mrs. Norton's 'Bingen on the Khine/ which was positively the poorest affair I
ever saw. Mr. Fontaine had just come out of a Federal prison, and some irresponsible
editor, in speaking of this 'parodie/ remarked that the poet's Pegasus had probably worn
his wings out against the walls of his Northern dungeon.
664
OUR FAMILIAR SOXGS.
" You probably know me well enough to acquit me, iu this instance at least, of the
charge of prejudice. I am jealous of Southern literature; and if I have any partiality in the
matter at all, it is in favor of Major Lamar Fontaine's claim. I should like to claim this poem
for that gentleman; I should be glad to claim it as a specimen of Southern literature, but
the facts in the case do not warrant it."
So much for Mr. Fontaine's claim. On the other hand, Mr. Alfred H. Guernsey, for
many years editor of Harper's Magazine, in a letter dated March 22, 1868, says: "The
facts are just these : The poem bearing the title ' The Picket Guard/ appeared in Harper's
Weekly for November 30, 1861. It was furnished by Mrs. Ethel Beers, a lady whom I
think incapable of palming off as her own any production of another."
Mrs. Beers herself, speaking of the poem in a private letter to me, says : " The poor
'Picket' has had so many authentic 'claimants, and willing sponsors, that I sometimes
question myself whether I did really write it that cool September morning, after reading
the stereotyped announcement 'All quiet/ &c., to which was added in small type 'A
picket shot.'" This letter had the same effect upon me that the agonized cry of the real
mother "Give her the living child !" had upon King Solomon, as he dangled the baby in
one hand and flourished the sword in the other.
MRS. BEERS was born in Goshen, Orange Co., N. Y., and her maiden name was Eth-
elinda Eliot. She was a descendant of John Eliot, the apostle to the Indians. Her first
contributions to the press appeared under the nom deplume of "Ethel Lynn/' one easily
and prettily suggested by her very Saxon Christian name. After her marriage, she added
her husband's name, and over the signature Ethel Lynu Beers published many poems,
among the best known of which are "Weighing the baby/' "Which shall it be?" and
" Baby looking out for me." Mrs. Beers resided in Orange, New Jersey, where she died,
October 10, 1879, the day on which her poems were issued in book form.
The music of her soug was composed by J. DAYTON, who was leader of the band of the
First Connecticut Artillery, and has composed several other melodies.
I k.
| 0 J? \) 0
-fs
j .
— N
Igj^m 1
M • J *i 1
H M :
\-J : J
—
1 ! j f*
— m M
» —
yi_ +^ i v> _^ J. ' • • * V ' T ~* — » '41 T-3- ' » — i — «-"
1. "All qui - et a - long the Po - to - mac," they say, "Ex - cept now and
2. All qui - et a - long the Po - to - mac to - night,Where the sol - diers Ho
r r
r i r
z r
c r
i* * i* i
— 1 1 r
» ' — » —
^•M? 7 — ^ U
—
•_. « M
• • * H
-F F — b
—
— <5 B
~f — r
— i* —
1
i I/ f
I/ i
1 * 1
1 ' '
XTHT^-^ — d-
H J-
— it
1— H *
r*1 — il~
-_j|. J ^
— -h
-*H
SEZI M J J *
1 f 5
•i •* •
!
j t
j
e • tJ-» * * * ~
thon a stray pick - et
peace - ful - ly dream- ing;
!*• • "^
Is shot, as he
Their tents, in the
m 1 N
walks on
rays of
his
the
f
" f
-
g>L^wb f— — P — L—
_J*
N»
_L >
J p-
m • m m
1 1 —
^^H? f — f ^~
— d
-u—
— b-
--J-i i d-
--ir-: U~
- * -
r u r
f |
r
1
=F±=
H^-JTT
1 t
H
LCD * • J g
beat, to and
clear au - t mini
fro, By a ri -
moon, Or the light
_£ glg=-t -'•
-J — HEEz
fle - man hid
of the watch
l_t i ^4
j 3 1 j J. -^
in the thick
- fires are gleam
et.
ing.
stp
EEE r
i i
k-v-.-
— ^
±^=5_^p_Lj 1
^^
ALL QUIET ALONG THE POTOMAC.
565
^Vrfr~Tl
n — F —
— ^ j a
i w~. r^-h-
N 1
-&
1 — fv-
1 J . ,
£=±q
'Tis
A
-*-' J *_
noth - ing : a
trem - u - lous
pri - vate or
sigh, as the
.-*• f ff
two now and then Will not count in the
gen - tie night wind Through the for - est leaves
,r: f r i * — r-r-r* f r i
— 1 — »-i • in —
_hz
1 — E-
r
1. & ~
-f-
;
^ I i
^
^
news of the bat - tie;
soft - ly is creep - ing :
Not an of - fi - cer lost, on - ly
While stars up a - bove, with their
f— f— E
fct*
f=r^
-^-bb J. J —
^-^N
t-.
rJ. J- H
=4 j—
p^=|
^ II
one of the
glit - ter - ing
=3=^=bi^U^J
men Moaning out all a -
eyes, Keep guard, — for the
lone the death
ar - my is
— r-: j* r~
rat
sleep -
— S — H
tie."
ing.
-&-
^ —
^
-
r — h-t-
9-
* ..»_• — it — i — i
~h "
There's only the sound of the lone sentry's
tread,
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed,
Far away in the cot on the mountain.
His musket falls slack, his face dark and grim,
Glows gentle with memories tender,
As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep ;
For their mother — may heaven defend her!
The moon seems to shine just as brightly as
then,
That night when the love yet unspoken,
Leaped up to his lips, when low. murmured vows
Were pledged to be ever unbroken ;
Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,
He dashes off tears that are welling,
And gathers his gun closer up to his side.
As if to keep down the heart swelling.
He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree,
The footstep is lagging and weary,
Yet onward he goes through the broad belt of light,
Toward the shade of the forest so dreary.
Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the
leaves,
Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?
It looked like a rifle — " Ha ! Mary, good-bye,"
And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing.
All quiet along the Potomac to-night,
No sound save the rush of the river;
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead,
The picket's off duty forever.
Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the
leaves,"
Was it moonlight so wondrously plashing?
It looked like a rifle — " Ha ! Mary, good-bye,"
And the life-blood is ebbing and flashing.
AFTER THE BATTLE.
THIS martial lyric is one of two written by THOMAS MOOBE, entitled "Before the
Battle," and « After the Battle." The air to which it is set is called -Thy Fair Bosom."
566
FAMILIAR SONGS.
/Kb f> „ »t*
i ft* «J — ^-
P N
± fc-
to S — I
J-4
Eft 4 r^a
-t/ — F: — U-^-
- V ¥j "•v * • —
• ^ . — 0—*
**=*-;—£-
— P fi— » « 1
^^ * • * *
1. Night closed a-round.... the conqu'ror's way, And lightnings show'd the dis-tant hill,When.-
2. The last sad hour.... of freedom's dream, And val - or's task moved slow- ly by, While
^ -JzzVr:
k-^-±-«-^H
*—
n p
^~1
1*r~&r~ ^5
4- T
K 1
fo\- O
P P
[ *
p
;T
[<5Jr fi >*
m 1 J 1 J 1
J i
'*t 1^ **1
« 1 t
^» -
WTJ A - *
3» * ' *
x d
• • •
g
those who lost.... that dread-ful day.. Stood few and faint, but fear-less still. The sol-dier's
mute they watch'd till morning's beam Should rise and give them light to die. There's yet a
tf.b r-i
S l^/^N-44^f^^S
-»- -»- -y- — - — - Z.9-
0 i J.?J i litJ1 1 j i J i I <l'-=i — M h
• ••
S
^=q:
>U —« s s: &-
J P n-
IS N f -tt* f
f #+ t
L_
Q^-J =£=£=
— » J d —
^^^ g • —
— J— : * H 6
—T-J <*r I
—V -V. — \-
-M^-J^-:
«J
hope, the pa-triot's zeal,.... For ev - er dimm'd, for- ev - er crost— Oh!
world where souls are free,.... Where ty- rants taint not na-ture's bliss; If
Jr L 1
I
1
rcn d
-^
J
^
f(T^ 1 1" T" 1 J r-\ *J r-J d
:
fg3; j — d—
za 3
~^ ^3
-*2 •
N»
— — \ -j
— , — ^ 1
who shall say.... what he - roes feel When all but life
death that world's bright op' - ning be, Oh ! who would live
and hon - or's lost *
a slave in this?
f
Pi
i ji f-
p~-ra
WHILE HISTORY'S MUSE.
WHILE HISTORY'S MUSE.
567
THE words of this song were written by THOMAS MOORE. The air is the old Irish
melody called " Paddy Whack."
1. While his - to - ry's muse the me - mo - rial was keep - ing, Of all that the dark hand of
2. "Hail star of my isle !" said the Spir - it, all spark-ling, With beams such as break from her
3. "Yet still the last crown of thy toils is re - main - ing, The grand-est, the pu - rest, ev'n
1 — ^ — E
-* * — J *-
^ *— r
=^
des - ti - ny weaves, Be - side her the gen - ius of E - rin stood weeping, Foi
own dew - y skies, "Thro' a - ges of sor-row,de - sert - ed and dark-ling, I've
thou hast yet known ; Tho' proud was thy task, o - ther na - tions un - chain-ing, Far
hers was the sto - ry that blot - ted the leaves. But
how the tears In her
watch'd for some glo - ry like thine to a - rise. For, tho' he - roes I've num - ber'd, un -
proud L- er to heal the deep wounds of thy own. At the foot of that throne for whose
— )
•
2
— 1^===r-i « — -:
_, .. ....
~N
29
*
i ^
^
« »-V— 9
t 57 5 5~
l~^~
— J~"^
eye - lids grew bright, When, af - ter whole pa - ges of sor - row and shame, She saw
blest was their lot, And un -hal - lovv'd they sleep in the cross-ways of fame; But
weal thou hast stood, Go, plead for the land that first era - died thy fame ; And
568
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
m
His -to - ry write, With a pen - cil of light That il - lum'd the whole vol - ume, her
oh ! there is not One dis - hon - or - ing blot, On the wreath that en - cir - cles my
bright o'er the flood Of her tears and her blood, Let the rain - bow of Hope be her
JM i -f— -f~
-9 • f
0- E5EEEE E
1 i * te
r— ' * \ \
i i
\
Erffc-J— ._;_ H _«L
-•- —• J • 7-
*< *
^ 7 j
THE HARP THAT ONCE THRO' TARA'S HALLS.
ABOUT nine hundred years before Christ, Ollav Fola, King of Ireland, founded schools
of philosophy, astronomy, poetry, medicine, and history. He also organized a species of
parliament, by a triennial assemblage of chiefs, priests, and bards, at Teamor, or Tarn,
and the record of their laws was called " The Psalter of Tara." THOMAS MOORE'S song of
the glories of his country's past, calls to mind the lines of Oliver Wendell Holmes on the
death of Moore :
" Shine soft, ye trembling tears of light
That strew the mourning skies ;
Hushed in the silent dews of night,
The h'arp of Erin lies.
What though her thousand years have past,
Of poets, saints, and kings, —
Her echoes only hear the last
That swept those golden strings."
"The Harp that once through Tara's Halls," is set to the plaintive old air of
" Grammachree."
\
^M
1. The harp that once thro' Ta - ra's halls The soul of mu - sic shed, Xow
2. No more to chiefs and la - dies bright The harp of Ta - ra swells; The
= rf-<=F=^^
^C0 — — • ' •
THE HARP THAT ONCE TlUKf TAHA'S HALLS.
569
han.es as mute on Ta - ra's walls, As if that soul were fled. So
a - lone, that breaks at night, Its tale of ru - in tells. Thus
— f — * — ^=*-
-0 ?— ~J—
— 1 1
1
— — — i — p
t — '
!••
1 J - 1 W H
* -«
_
-^- 4n^n
sleeps the pride of form - er days, So glo - ry's thrill is o'er,
Free - dom now so sel - dom wakes, The on - fy throb she gives,
And
Is
P
db
II
hearts that once beat high for praise, Now feel that pulse no more,
when some heart in - dig - nant breaks, To show that still she lives.
«
FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.
" THE FOREST " was a tract which comprehended the county of Selkirk, with portions
of Peebleshire and Lanarkshire. It was a hunting forest of the Scottish kings, and at the
battle of Flodden, the famed archers of the forest fell almost to a man.
Miss JEAN ELLIOT, author of the following song, was bora at Minto in 1727. Sao
was a quiet, elegantly cultivated girl, and at the age of nineteen, during the stormy days of
the rebellion of 1745, she received with so much composure a party of Jacobites who came
to arrest her father, Sir Gilbert Elliot, Lord Justice, a staunch Whig, that the men rode off,
convinced that he was well out of the way, — when he was within a stone's throw of the
house. The family removed to Edinburgh, and there she continued to lead the life of a
retired gentlewoman, the last of her generation who kept a sedan chair, in which she was
carried out for her daily airings on the shoulders of caddies. She died March 29, 1805.
570
OUR FAMILIAR HONGS.
When Miss Jean was about thirty years old, she was riding through the Forest one
evening, and talking of Flodden, when her brother laid a wager that she could not write a
ballad on the subject. Two lines of an old song came to her memory, and before she
reached home she had fitted to it some new ones of her own, which were so old in form,
that the public instantly referred them to one of the elder bards. Burns, who discovered
the truth, said : " the manners indeed are old ; but the language is of yesterday."
Larghetto.
Lass - es a - lilt - in' be
fore dawn o' day ; Now there's' a moan - in' on
il - ka green loan- in', The flow'rs of the for - est are a' wede a-way. At
m
f^^
f^
buchts in the morn -in', nae blythe lads are scorn -in', Lass- es are lane- ly, and
~JSL
THE FLO WEES OF THE FOREST.
In har'st at the shearin', nae youths now are
jeerin',
The bandsters are runkled, and lyart, and gray,
At fair or at preachin', nae wooin' nae fleechin',
The flowers of the forest are a' wede away.
At e'en, in the gloamin', nae swankies are
roamin',
'Bout stacks, 'mang the lassies, at bogle to play ;
But each ane sits dreary, lamenting her dearie,
The flowers of the forest are a' wede away.
Dool and wae for the order sent our lads to the
border,
The English for ance by guile wan the day :
The flowers of the forest, that fought aye the
foremost,
The prime o' our land now lie cauld in the clay.
We'll hear nae mair liltin' at our ewe-milkin',
Women and bairns are dowie and wae,
Sighin' and moanin', on ilka green loanin",
The flowers of the forest are a' wede away.
THE TIGHT LITTLE ISLAND.
THOMAS DIBDIN, author of " The Tight Little Island," was the eldest son of the
great English sea-song writer, and was born in London, in 1771. Garrick was his god-
father, and when he was four years old he appeared on the stage as Cupid. He became
actor, author, and composer, and wrote more than a thousand songs, few of which have
outlived him. His farce of "Mother Goose" brought the managers of Co vent Garden
Theatre a hundred thousand dollars, and "The High-Mettled Racer" made a clear profit of
sixteen thousand dollars for its proprietors; but Dibdiu died in poverty while compiling an
edition of his father's songs, September 16, 1841.
WILLIAM REEVE, who arranged the music for "The Tight Little Island" from the
air of " The Rogue's March," was born in London in 1775. He was for a time an organist
in Devonshire, but returned to London, where he' was an actor and musician in theatres,
.and a successful dramatic composer, especially of comic pieces.
Arranged by Edward S. dimming*.
Moderate
572
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
jffl [^ N N N H
V-JF
m f
— F-
p f* r r N r — i — s
KB * J J—J J •
— ^- -P-
P-
-P "
— L—
X — J — L — 9 — J h 1
^Li f. f. *_ ty y p y ^ w. ^ 1 — ^_ ^ •
spot I should hit on would be lit -tie Brit-ain," Says Freedom, "why, that's my own Is- land."
Dane, Pict, and Sax-on, their homes turn'd their backs on,And all for the sake of bur Is- land.
fe ^ g ^ t 1 *
rrs — f — — f — f —
— F i*
•
=3=
0
-F F F F — f— a a •
— U~i~
'i =1 U m =1 • r 1 T S
*^*-/ ' *•
r
f II r r i
I.
1
CHORUS. —
flu r^ N Is Is
Is N
tmmmml
. 1
• LI'
Lrftu. J M J g
P
S
l
/L Jf T i
! 0
J
1
P
I/TV
'ml
f • -
•
j
s • N N S N I m •
IMJ |* 999
9 9
•
9
9 9 •
<J > »_^.J!.j^.-e.^.»^..»'
Oh I what a snug lit - tie Is - land, A right lit - tie, tight lit - tie Is - land,
Oh I what a snug lit- tie Is - land, They'd all have a touch at the Is - land,
n*s — i* — r~f — f — f — f — 1 — i~H~~ — * — ' — — * — i 9 ' — 9— = — •
L .
-&
— 1 • « *— t 1 fcj
^ it -P — '- — P — P — P- ?
-P-—
-P
— P ^— f P P— B^ P
n +t
— v — v — V — v — v r r — l — ••
IL N K.
N ^
N 1
V
^
D
r P r v II
XL S r P P
^
\
* PUZT
ifh J J J
j J
J J
9\
* n * J - ^
^ V f fl f t '
^ ^
*\ m,
1
! 1 i * J
^J 9999' 9999
All the globe round, None can be found
Some were shot dead, Some of them fled,
0 p m m • 00mm
_
So
And
— S~^f
*****£ *: f
hap - py as this lit - tie Is - land,
some stayed to live in the Is - land.
(m\^* * | i 1
-F--?
t 9
RV>F
-P~
IIF — r — » — P — c — ^ • *
W±z..\ i ;, p .
— j- H
-» —
-f- h 1— — • P • —
-v — ^ — v — — F *-^ —
^- E u r — '
Then a very great warman, called Billy the Norman,
Cried " hang it, I never liked my land ;
It would be much more handy to leave this Normandy,
And live on yon beautiful Island."
Says he, " 'tis a snug little Island,
Sha'n't us go visit the Island ?"
Hop, skip, and jump, there he was plump,
And he kicked up a dust in the Island.
Yet party deceit helped the Normans to beat,
Of traitors they managed to buy land ;
By Dauc, Saxon, or Pict, we had never been licked,
Had they stuck to the King of the Island 1
He lost both his life and his Island,
Poor Harold, the King of the Island !
That's very true, what could he do ?
Like a Briton he died for his Island.
Then the Spanish Armada set out to invade her,
Quite sure if they ever came nigh land,
They could not do less than tuck up Queen Bess,
And take their full swing in the Island.
The drones came to plunder the Island,
Oh 1 the poor Queen of the Island,
But snug in her hive the Queen was alive,
And buz was the word at the Island.
These proud puffed up cakes thought to make Duck*
and Drakes
Of our wealth, but they scarcely could spy land,
Ere our Drake had the luck to make their pride duck,
And stoop to the lads of the Island.
The good Wooden Walls of the Island,
Huzza ! for the lads of the Island,
Foes, one by one, let 'em come on,
But how'd they come off at the Island I
I don't wonder much, that the Russ and the Dutch
Have since been oft tempted to try land,
And I wonder much less they have met no success,
For why should we give up our Island ?
Oh I 'tis a wonderful Island,
All of 'em long for the Island,
Hold a bit there, (let 'em) take fire and air,
But we'll have the Sea and the Island.
Then since Freedom and Neptune have hitherto kept
tune
In each saying " This shall be my land,"
And the men of old England be true to their kingland»
We'd show them some play for the Island.
We'd fight for our right to the Island,
We'd give them enough of the Island,
Invaders should just bite at the dust,
But not a bit more of the Island.
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.
573
IN his life of THOMAS CAMPBELL, Dr. Beattie says : « Mrs. Ireland, who saw much of
Campbell at this time (1799) mentions that it was in the musical evenings at her mother's
house that he appeared to derive the greatest enjoyment. At these soirees his favorite
song was < Ye Gentlemen of England,' with the music of which he was particularly struck,
and determined to write new words for it. Hence this noble and stirring lyric of « Ye
Mariners of England," part of which, if not all, he is said to have composed after one
of these family parties. It was not, however, until after he had retired to Ratisbon, and
felt his patriotism kindled by the announcement of war with Denmark, that he finished the
original sketch, and sent it home to Mr. Parry, of the Morning Chronicle?
After Campbell had visited Germany, and met the Irish exiles who had inspired his
" Exile of Erin," he returned to London, and thence to Scotland. In Edinburgh he was
arrested for high treason, on suspicion of complicity with the Irish exiles. His trunk
was seized, but the search through its contents, instead of bringing to light treasonable
papers, revealed the first draft of "Ye Mariners of England," which of course amply
vindicated his loyalty.
The music of " Ye Gentlemen of England" was composed by JOHN WALL CALLCOTT,
who was born at Kensington, England, in 1766. He early developed a fondness for music,
and when thirteen years old he attempted composition, and wrote pieces for a private play.
He sent one hundred original compositions to compete for a prize offered by the Noble-
man's Catch Club. When the club decided to accept bub three pieces of a sort, Callcott
sent twelve, four of which gained the four medals. By himself he studied French, Italian,
Hebrew, and Syriac. He became joint organist of St. Paul's, Covent Garden, and studied
instrumental music with Haydn. Dr. Callcott began to compile a musical dictionary, and
while proceeding with it, formed a military band for which he composed and arranged the *
music, and personally drilled the performers. He also wrote a musical grammar. For
fifteen years before his death, which took place May 15, 1821, his mind was deranged. The
music of the song is arranged as a trio for men's voices.
Trio for Male Voices.
-6-. fc-
i •
r£— — 9 i r— = • \ •—
• f br— i
r-<ff>
fe£=e-
& —
i
?— BE
•-£- • — -f
-f
r T "Thfe *-
2=t~
1. Ye
2. The
(3- 1
mar - i - ners of
spir - its of your
Eng -land, That guard our na - live was, Whose
fa - thers Shall start from ev - 'ry wave! For the
g— f— f-jf T -r r-t. J»J-i
2-J g-t
w
c 1 —
-j
1
flag has brav'd a thou - sand years, The bat - tic and the breeze, Your
deck it was their field of fame, And the o - cean was their grave. Where
m
-:
ps
Hl—i — 3-
i r l~r'. ^_ ,,-H —
glo - rious stand - ard launch a -gain, To match an- oth - er foe!..
Blake and migh - ty Nel - son fell. Your man - ly hearts shall glow,.
674,
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
_<2..
U J* — — — — t .- fo — f —
••#: J-.
-*-
-i*-—
£-;--
»~
— 9 — • ~M
*-i «— 1
BE £ — _? — r. .1 i j_ —
•/ r ^
And sweep thro'
As ye sweep thro'
1 '
the deep,
the deep,
•
: — b 2?
1
While
While
™ ' * • ^ »— £-
v«
the storm - y winds do
the storm - y winds do
— b — i — t ^ —
-T 1 H
EE3
CHORUS.
i 0 ,[> 'fg *~ • \ , • J «-: f i X""
1' — *
' I n
-5 — r
• ^
— ' —
blow, While the storm - y winds do blow;
1 ix — '
While the
»_V-_U _ 0 ^__ &
- t?— r
j- T _ \
mm*. "7 5 ff 5 0 \ 0 ^ 0 £ £ 0 ^ '
-%—*—
fm^ — p p P- - — p*-3 — i*- — € — — * — ^ — i —
bat -tie rag - es loud and long, And the storm -y
winds do blov^^^T...
While the
•*"] f \ p •
2 J
• • & ] 1 , m 0 '
*
] j
!_*• '
" .j
— 1 n
— *— »— 5 ?—
bat - tie ra - ges loud and long, And the storm - y winds do blow.
(-)-— J7 — ^ ^ ^ 0 F 1 1 1 H H
? F » •— -
--it — ^\\
- P 1: — bJ— "-* ——.
., 1 1 j
Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep :
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,
Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak,
She quells the floods below, —
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy winds do blow ;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.
The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean warriors !
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow:
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.
BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.
THIS is another of CAMPBELL'S naval lyrics. The music was arranged by C. H. PTJRDAY,
a contemporary English composer, who has written many melodies, and edited and arranged
the music of the " Royal Naval Song Book/' one of the best collections of its kind ever
published.
-^3: E?E
•t=f— S=4-<i * T
3I^__ « 0-!-
1. Of.... Nel-sonand the North
1. Like le - vi - a-thans a - float.
Sing
Lay
the
their
glo - rious day's
bul - warks on
ft*. *
re - nown. When to
the brine, While the
BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.
arms a - long the deep, proud -ly
ten of A - pril morn by the
shone. By each gun the light-ed brand, In a
chime ; As they drift - ed on their path, There was
S
* f-
bold, de - ter -mined hand, And the prince of all the land Led them
si -lence deep as death; And the bold - est held his breath, For a
time..--
But the might of England flushed
To anticipate the scene ;
And her van the fleeter rushed
O'er the deadly space between.
" Hearts of oakl " our captains cried, when each
gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun.
Again ! again ! again !
And the havoc did not slack,
Till a feeble cheer the Dane
To our cheering sent us back :
Their shots along the deep slowly boom: —
Then ceased, — and all is wail,
As they strike the shattered sail ;
Or, in conflagration pale,
Light the gloom.
Outspoke the victor then,
As he hailed them o'er the wave;
« Ye are brothers ! ye are men !
And we conquer but to save !
So peace instead of death let us bring;
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,
With the crews, at England's feet,
And make submission meet
To our King."
Then Denmark blessed our chief,
That he gave her wounds repose ;
And the sounds of joy and grief
From her people wildly rose,
As Death withdrew his shades from the day,
While the sun looked smiling bright
O'er a wide and woeful sight,
Where the fires of funeral light
Died away.
Now joy, Old England, raise !
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,
Whilst the wine-cup shines in light;
And yet, amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,
3y thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore !
Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died
With the gallant, good Riou :
Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave,
While the billow mournful rolls
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing giory to the souls
Of the brave !
576
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
RULE, BRITANNIA
THE Eoglish anthem of "Rule Britannia" has long been accredited to JAMES THOMSON,
author of "The Seasons;" but it is by no means certain that it is his. The. song first
appeared in the masque of "Alfred," in 1740, which was written by David Mallet jointly,
with Thomson. In the Masque, as altered by Mallet in 1751, three of the six original
stanzas were omitted, and three additional stanzas, written by Lord Bolingbroke, were
substituted. An editor of Thomson's works ascribes the original ode to Mallet, " on no
slight evidence." For a long time the sopg was not included in the collected works of
either. In 1755 Mallet brought out his "Masque of Britannia," at Drury Lane Theatre,
and it was received with great applause. The Monthly Review, a Scottish magazine of the
time, in noticing it, says : " Britannia, a masque, set to music by Dr. Arne. Mr. David
Mallet is its reputed author. His design was to animate the sons of Britannia to vindicate
their country's rights, and avenge her wrongs."
DAYID MALLET was bom in Creiff, Perthshire, Scotland, about 1700. When very
young, he was a janitor of the High School at Edinburgh. He became tutor in a family
residing near that city, and prosecuted his studies at the University.
The air of "Rule, Britannia" was composed by DR. THOMAS ARNE, who was born in
1704, the son of a wealthy upholsterer in London. He was educated at Eton, and his
father designed him for the law, but while pursuing his studies, the boy used to satisfy his
craving for music by dressing in servants' livery and sitting in the upper gallery at the
theatres. He learned to play with the strings of his spinet muffled in a handkerchief.
One day his father was shown into a gentleman's house where a musical party was in full
blast, and to his amazement and disgust, his own son occupied the post of first fiddler.
From that time he was allowed to play at home, and soon the family became exceedingly
proud of his achievements. He taught his sister to sing. She had a charming voice, and
he wrote an opera for her which had a run of ten nights. She became the famous Mrs.
Cibber. Arne wrote the first English music that rivalled Italian in compass and difficulty.
His greatest work was the music to " Comus." He died March 5, 1778. While attempting
to illustrate a musical idea, he sang an air in faltering tones ; the sound grew fainter, until
song and breathing ceased together.
M Maestoso
'_j2 -p =c=^=3=i f
-p ^
1. When
-• • •— 1 ^-
2. The
-H r
— K N K 1 1
j^- =tgr3_ , _g
»
* , f~ 4 4 .
^
T — | ' ' ' fc^^^ -j
i \
— 0 7 0 — ^ 0 — =f 0 1 —
:i2 «
_-* ^ «_, 11 -^3 1 j
RULE, BRITANNIA!
577
z^m:;z^— t fr — * — h-rj^*bzN— d"—
•-^LLfft^' * * zjEfcE^jlEi
z^te
^fe
ei;r'-*-;
r.08e from out the a - zure main, A '- rose, a - rose a - rose from out the
m theirturn to ty - rants fall, Must in their turn , to
— »-^— D— ^ —
a - zure main,
ty - rants fall;
This was the charter, the char - terof the land, And
While thou shalt flourish, shalt flour - ish great and free, The
\ Jt -+ f LJ ! ! tT|
5 3
^ 1 * j- 4~ i 1 y r «j ^ | J •
t=£=3&=££=l \ l--^-*-^^^^:
^~^> =t =$ z; =t ^3 ^^ ^ y> -^ * *
J* • T f
f-^T^^
guar - dian an
dread and en
4 V
- gels sang this strain; "Rule, Bri - tan - nial Bri-
vy of them all. "Rule, Bri - tan - nial Bri-
ff— 3 JV j 1 3 • i -| [-
i
^( .- . _ M *l -
f=i
=£
7 I
5 3 3
f
fl
578
OU2i FAMILIAR SONGS.
Rule, Britan-nia I Bri - tan-nia,rule the waves ;
Bri - tons
i i
uev
t •
- er will be slaves.
£*- *
Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful from each foreign stroke ;
As the loud blast, that tears the skies,
U : Serves but to root thy native oak. :||
Rule, Britannia ! etc.
Thee, haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame ;
All their attempts to bend thee down,
Will but arouse thy gen'rous flame,
|: To work their woe, and thy renown. :||
Rule, Britannia ! etc.
3.
To thee belongs the rural reign,
Thy cities shall with commerce shine ;
All thine, shall be the subject main,
|| : And ev'ry shore it circles, thine. :||
Rule, Britannia ! etc.
The muses, still with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair ;
Blest Isle! with matchless beauty crown'd,
||: And manly hearts to guard the fair. :||
Rule, Britannia ! etc.
GOD SAVE THE KING.
THE origin of this national song of Great Britain has been matter for endless discus-
Bion. The most generally accepted theory seems to be, that the words were written by
HENRY CARET, author of " Sally in our Alley," for James II., the exiled King, and that it
was revived and sung during the rebellions of 1715 and 1745, and then silenced by the
failure of the Jacobites, until it reappeared with the reading " God save Great George, our
King," substituted for the original one, which is admitted to be "God save Great James, our
King." On no other hypothesis could a meaning be found for the lines :
" Send him victorious
Long to reign over us,"
-
" O Lord, our God, arise,
Scatter his enemies,
And make them fall.
Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks," etc.
Even this interpretation hardly explains the allusions of the last two lines given, which
probably refer to the gunpowder plot.
Richard Clark, a well-known English composer, wrote a defence of Carey's claim, but
subsequently was shaken in his belief, and devoted eight years to research on the subject,
when he published a book (London, 1821) in which he asserts that the anthem was writ-
ten in the reign of James I., by Ben Jonson, who was Poet Laureate. He says it was
written at the particular request of the Merchant Tailors' Company, and was sung in their
GOD SAVE THE KING.
hall at the first public appearance of King James after the discovery of the gunpowder plot
He emphasizes the « knavish tricks/' and the political enemies who concocted them, and
shows that these very forms of expression were introduced into the Church's thanksgivings
and prayers for the monarch's escape and continued safety; but he does not explain the
force of having the King « sent victorious." He accounts in two ways for the want of
certainty on this point, by showing that the property of the hall was destroyed in the great
fire of 1666, or by the supposition that Jonson may have destroyed the anthem himself;
for, after his duel with Spencer, the actor, he was committed to prison, where he was
converted to Catholicism, in which faith he remained for twelve years, during which time
the monarch who had ordered the translation of our present English Bible, would be less
giorious in his eyes. One thing which seems to favor this rather startling theory, is, that
the music is attributed by nearly all authorities to Dr. Bull, who was a famous composer
of that reign, and some of whose music was known to have been produced at this meeting
in the Tailors' Hall.
Is it not possible that Ben Jonson did write the anthem, with a different fourth line 'in
the first stanza, and that, being a genuine poet, he thought so slightly of a production
which is utterly worthless as poetry, that he did not take the trouble to claim it 1 And
when he changed his faith, he might have been glad that his wretched verses had been
burned, and only wished that the many similar ones he must have written, as laureate,
had shared their fate. But these had been sung by a great chorus of " the gentlemen and
children of the royal chapel." These children would remember a song learned for so great
an occasion, and from them it would descend orally. Perhaps, then, Henry Carey took the
song, which it has never been shown that he personally claimed, wrote a new line to give
an especial Jacobite twist to the sentiments, and set it afloat to the praise of the exiled
house of Stuart. It is believed that he sang it in public at this time, and in 1714, when
Dr. Arne is known to have re-arranged the air, it is certain that he sang it again publicly,
with " Great George our King" substituted, but with all the other incongruities remaining;
for the accession of George I. was peaceful and undisputed. Gary's life of eighty yeara
extended through the reigns of Charles II., James II., William and Mary, Queen Anne, and
two of the Georges.
Carey's son, born in the year of his father's death, stoutly contended for his father's
authorship of music as well as words, and made an attempt to get a pension on the
strength of it, which attempt he thus describes : " Reflecting on its utility, and convinced
of its having been written by my father, I thought there could be no harm in endeavoring,
through some medium or other, to make myself known at Windsor as sou of the author
of ' God save the King/ and as great families create great wants, it is natural to wish
for some little relief. Accordingly, I was advised to beg the interference of a gentleman
residing in the purlieus of the Castle, and who is forever seen bowing and scraping in the
King's walks, that he would be kind enough to explain this matter rightly to the sovereign,
thinking it was not improbable but that some consideration might have taken place and
some little compliment been bestowed on the offspring of one 'who had done the state
some service.' But, alas ! no sooner did I move in the business with the greatest humility to
this demi-cannon, but he opened his copious mouth as wide as a four-mid-twrnty pounder,
bursting as loudly upon me as the largest piece of ordnance, with his chin cocked up, lil«- tlm
little centre figure, with his cauliflower-wig, in Banbury's Country Club, exclaiming, < Sir, I
do not see, because your father was the author of < God save the King/ that the King is under
any obligation to his son/ I am convinced, had my plea been fairly stated at a great ant
good man's house, I should have had a princely answer; but in respect to myself, I may
have by-and-by to say, like Cardinal Wolsey, that
• I urn weary and old, left to the mercy
Of a rude stream that must forever hide me.' "
580
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
_£_!„ J 1 -j — 1
N j — r-
-4 "1 j II —
p
$b~ i • «
t — i —
— *-:
— ^ * — -
-j=j 5 ]F^-
•£ ' ' • n
* r
»/ * ^
1. God save our
2. O Lord our
3. Thy choic - est
f 4 "*"
' * •
gra -
God
gifts
i — 0—
— f —
cious King,
a - rise,
in store,
Long live our no
Scat - ter his en
On him be pleas'd
rs=^=^F_rtTr
F >tl
- ble Kiuj '
e - mie^ '•
to pour, \
n_tt . 1 .. — |
'
=5 F—
4 1 —1
— A
\~~l 1~
5 -0— - 01
f 0 *—
W^^ •[ 0 j /jj
*
\— t -P
f 0 *
God save the King!
And make them fall.
Long may he reign!
\
j — \. 1
Send him
Con - found
May he
j-t *
vie - to - ri - ous, Hap - py and
their pol - i - tics, Frus - trate their
de - fend our laws, And ev - er
* • f — — £—
i
| — t
^ 1
: E ' 1
u i
r* -^i
i is 1
H
V ft i1 ^
,1— J
0 J ! • '
-\ H
^r* 0 • $ j
±j r-g-V-Jq
— 5-.- -I — 01—
; ^ •'•"(• J • J
-i-
glo - ri - ous,
knav - ish tricks;
give us cause,
«-+' f +
p- P
Long to reign
On Thee our
To sing with
•O. J^1
o - ver us,
hopes w« fix ;
heart and voice,
•*" fr •?"
God save the
God save the
God save the
c=t a
King.
King.
King.
_£l u
— f. f ». —
-J . •" r f
: .. [.... ... L
.L_
II
DIXIE.
THE only version of the famous song of "Dixie" which has the least literary merit
is the original one we give, which was written by GENERAL ALBERT PIKE. It is worthy
of notice that the finest Puritan lyric we have was written by an Englishwoman, Mrs.
Hemans, and the most famous if not the finest Southern war-song was written by a native
of Massachusetts. Albert Pike was born in Boston. December 29, 1809, but most of his
boyhood was spent in Newburyport. He became u teacher, but in 1831 visited the then
wild country of the Southwest with a party of trappers. He afterward edited a paper at
Little Rock, and studied law. He served in the Mexican war with some distinction, and
on the breaking out of the Rebellion enlisted, on the Confederate side, a force of Cherokee
Indians, whom he led at the battle of Pea Ridge. After the war he edited the Memphis
Appeal till 1868, when he settled in Washington as a lawyer. His "Hymns to the Gods,"
published in Blackwood's Magazine, gave him a place among the earlier American poets.
The original song of " Dixie" was the composition of Dan D. Emmett, of Bryant's
minstrels, and was first sung in New York in 1860. A writer in the Charleston Courier,
under date of June 11, 1861, says it is an old Northern negro air, and that the words
referred to one Dix, or Dixy, who had an estate on Manhattan Island, now New York
city. Another theory is, that the name Dixie's Land was suggested by Mason and
Dixon's line, of which so much was said in the days of slavery agitation. The first words
used for the song in the South were from a poem entitled "The Star of the West," pub-
lished in the Charleston Mercury early in 1861
DIXIE' S LAND.
581
1. Southrons, hear your
2. For Dix- ie's land we
3. Hear the North- ern
coun-try call you! Up ! lest worse than death be-fall you! To
take ourstand,And live or die for Dix - ic! To
thunders mut- ter 1 Northern flags in South wind flutter ; To
m
arms! to arras! to arms in Dix-ie! Lo! all the bea- con - fires are light- ed,
arms! to arms! to arms in Dix-ie! And con-quer peace for Dix • ic, And
arms! to arms! to arms in Dix-ie! Fear no dan-ger! shun no la-bor!
s
^
an
&=
g .
i-£ i
tfc 1
p — *—
<r " !
Let all hearts be now u-nit-ed, To arms!
con-quer peace for Dix - ie! To arms!
Lift up ri - fle, pike, and sa-bre! To arms!
to
to
to
arms!
arms
arms!
to arms in
to arms
to arms
Dix-le!
Dix - ie!
Dix-ie!
CHORUS.
A' -SSS^ 3 B£:b£! K:g! gj^
Lift up ri - fle, pike and sa - bre I
Ad - vance the flag
And conquer peace
Lift up ri - fle, pike
of
for
and
582
OUR FAMILIAR
m
Dix - ie! Ad - vance the flag of Dix - iel Hur- rah! hur- rah!
Dix - ie! And con - quer peace for Dix - iel Hur- rah! hur- rah!
sa - brc! Lift up ri - fl«, pike and sa - brel Hur- rah I hur- rah?
N
9
Ad-
And
Lilt up
I
e=£
^E
i
?
U—U
w w
Ad - vance the flag of Dix - ie !
And con-quer peace for Dix -iel
Lift up ri- fle, pike and sa-brel
N
vance the flag in Dix - ie ! Hur - rah ! hur - rah !
conquer peace for Dix-ie! Hur -rah! hur- rah!
ri - fle, pike and sa - bre I Hur - rah ! hur - rah !
JL
Southrons, hear your country call you !
Up ! lest worse than death befall you :
To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie !
Lo ! all beacon fires are lighted,
Let our hearts be now united :
To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie !
Advance the flag of Dixie !
Hurrah! Hurrah!
For Dixie's land we'll take our stand,
To live or die for Dixie !
To arms ! To arms !
And conquer peace for Dixie !
To arms ! to arms !
And conquer peace for Dixie !
Hear the Northern thunders mutter !
Northern flags in south wind flutter!
To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie !
Send them back your fierce defiance !
Stamp upon the cursed alliance !
To arms ! to arms in Dixie !
Advance the flag of Dixie !
Fear no danger! shun no labor!
Lift up rifle, pike, and sabre !
To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie !
Shoulder pressing close to shoulder,
Let the odds make each heart bolder :
To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie !
Advance the flag of Dixie !
How the South's great heart rejoices,
At your cannon's ringing voices :
To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie !
For faith betrayed and pledges broken,
Wrongs inflicted, insults spoken :
To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie !
Advance the flag of Dixie !
Strong as lions, swift as eagles,
Back to their kennels hunt these beagles !
To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie !
Cut the unequal bonds asunder !
Let them hence each other plunder :
To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie !
Advance the flag of Dixie !
Swear upon your country's altar,
Never to give up or falter ;
To arms ! to arms I to arms in Dixie !
Till the spoilers are defeated,
Till the Lord's work is completed,
To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie !
Advance the flag of Dixie !
Halt not till our Federation,
Secures among earth's powers its station!
To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie !
Then at peace, and crowned with glory,
Hear your children tell the story !
To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie !
Advance the flag of Dixie !
If the loved ones weep in sadness,
Victory soon shall bring them gladness.
To arms! to arms! to arms in Dixie!
Exultant pride soon banish sorrow;
Smiles chase tears away to-morrow.
To arms ! to arms ! to arms in Dixie !
Advance the flag of Dixie !
Hurrah ! Hurrah !
For Dixie's land we'll take our stand,
To live or die for Dixie !
To arms ! to arms !
And conquer peace for Dixie !
To arms ! to arms !
And conquer peace for Dixie !
YANKEE DOODLE. 583
YANKEE DOODLE.
THE air of "Yankee Doodle" is claimed by several nations. It is said to be an old
vintage-song of the south of France. In Holland, when the laborers received for wages
" as much buttermilk as they could drink, and a tenth of the grain," they used to sing as
they reaped, to the tune of " Yankee Doodle," the words :
"Tanker, dudel, doodle down,
Diddle, dudel, lanther,
Yanke viver, voover vown,
Botermilk und tanther."
A letter from the American Secretary of Legation, dated Madrid, June 3, 1858, says i
" The tune of ' Yankee Doodle/ from the first of my showing it here, has been acknow-
ledged, by persons acquainted with music, to bear a strong resemblance to the popular airs
of Biscay ; and yesterday a professor from the north recognized it as being much like the
ancient sword-dance played on solemn occasions by the people of San Sebastian. He says
the tune varies in those provinces. Our national air certainly has its origin in the music of
the free Pyrenees ; the first strains are identically those of the heroic Danza Esparta of
brave old Biscay."
The tune was sung in England in the reign of Charles I., to a rhyme which is stlU
alive in our nurseries :
" Lucy Locket lost her pocket,
Kitty Fisher found it—
Nothing in it, nothing on it,
But the binding round it."
After the uprising of Cromwell against Charles, the air was sung by the cavaliers in
ridicule of Cromwell, who was said to have ridden into Oxford on a small horse, with his
single plume fastened into a sort of knot, which was derisively called a " macaroni." The
words were :
" Yankee Doodle came to town,
Upon a Kentish pony ;
He stuck a feather in his cap,
Upon a macaroni."
The tune first appeared in this country in June, 1755. The British general, Braddock,
was assembling the colonists near Albany, for an attack on the French and Indians al
forts Niagara and Frontenac. In marched
The old Continentals,
In their ragged regimentals,
or in no regimentals at all ; but wearing all the fashions of two hundred years, and with
arms as quaint. The martial baud to which they took their uneven steps played music that
the British soldiers might have heard their great-grandfathers speak of. For generations
the swords of our noble ancestors had been turned to pruning-hooks, and they had for-
gotten war and the fashion of it.
There was in the British camp a Dr. P; chard Shuckburg, regimental surgeon, afterward
appointed Secretary of Indian affairs by Sir William Johnson. This piecer-up of broken
humanity was a wit and a musical genius, and the patchwork appearance of these new
subjects amused him mightily. As they marched into the handsome and orderly British
lines, the traditional picture of Cromwell on the Kentish pony, with a macaroni to hold his
single plume, came into mind in contrast with the extravagant elegance of Charles aud his
cavaliers, and he planned a joke upon the instant. He set down the notes of " Yankee
Doodle," 'wrote along them the lively travesty upon Cromwell, and gave them to the
uncouth musicians as the latest martial music of England. The baud quickly caught the
simple and contagious air, and soon it sounded through the camp amid the laughter of the
British soldiers.
664
OUK FAMILIAR SONGS.
It was a prophetic piece of fun, and its significance became apparent twenty-five years
later, when, to the tune of " Yankee Doodle," Lord Cornwallis marched into the lines of
these same old Continentals to surrender his army and his sword. What Cromwell proved
to the godless army of Charles, with —
" Their perfumed satin clothes, their catches and their oaths,
Their stage-plays and their sonnets, their diamonds and their spades,"
that our ancestors were to the royai oppressors of liberty. With Cromwell's rout, our sol-
diers could exclaim —
" The Kings of earth in fear, shall tremble when they hear
What the hand of God hath wrought for the Houses and the Word."
Throughout our Kevolution the song that tyranny had made to ridicule the champion of
religious and political freedom, was the march to greater victories of the same principles.
_J2 N_
1. Fa - ther and I went down to camp, A - long with Cap'n I
2. And there we see a thou-sand men, As rich as Squire
3. The 'lass - es they eat ev - 'ry day, Would keep a house a
-r —^~
3ood - in', And
Dav - id ; And
win - ter ; They
1 N 1 N
V\' O
€J- Is -i ! \ j
C> 2f ^i * & '
• ,
— ^ — = — "~zd
— F F —
there we saw the men and boys As thick as has - ty
what they wast - ed ev - 'ry day, I wish it could be
have so much that, I'll be bound, They eat it when they've
pud - din',
sav - ed.
mind ter.
J 1 1
Jgig»JJI 4
JJ
-1
IHi 1 r r ' T 1 >' ' L '
• 1* i* |
3 !™J u
1 I
/rk J— : •- — J J * ^ ^ J— : r — J- P-
j
i^B — — ^ — — b — — 4— — ^ £ —
— -4— —4—
Yan - kee Doo - die, keep it up, Yan - kee Doo - die
dan - dy,
'J -*-*•« ^.^L^L J.J.J.
U J 1^ ij — i
1 '^"^ j j ^
a • •
YANKEE DOODLE.
/TS
585
2
£
3
Mind the mu - sic and the step, And with the girls be han - dy.
CHORUS.
Cho.
Cho.
And there I see a swamping gun,
Large as a log of maple,
Upon a deuced little cart,
A load for father's cattle.
And every time they shoot it off,
It takes a horn of powder,
And makes a noise like father's gun,
Only a nation louder.
I went as nigh to one myself
As 'Siah's underpinning;
And father went as nigh agin,
I thought the deuce was in him.
Cho.
Cho.
Cousin Simon grew so bold,
I thought he would have cocked it ;
It scared me so I shrinked it off
And hung by father's pocket.
And Cap'n Davis had a gun,
He kind of clapt his hand ou't,
And stuck a crooked stabbing iron
Upon the little end on'L
And there I see a pumpkin shell
As big as mother's bason ;
And every time they touched it off
They scampered like the nation.
586
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
I see a little barrel too,
The heads were made of leather ;
They knocked upon 't with little clubs
And called the folks together.
Cho.
And there was Cap'n Washington,
And gentle folks about him;
They say he's grown so 'tarnal proud,
He will not ride without 'em.
Cho.
He got him on his meeting clothes
Upon a slapping stallion,
He set the world along in rows,
In hundreds and in millions.
Oc.
Cho.
The flaming ribbons in his hat,
They looked so taring fine, ah,
I wanted dreadfully to get
To give to my Jemima.
I see another snarl of men
A digging graves, they told me,
So 'tarnal long, so 'tarnal deep,
They 'tended they should hold me-
Cho.
Cho.
It scared me so 1 hooked it off,
Nor stopped, as I remember,
Nor turned about till I got home,
Locked up in mother's chamber.
HAIL, COLUMBIA!
THE author of the words of " Hail Columbia," JOSEPH HOPKINSON, was born in Philadel-
phia, Penn , November 12, 1770. He was educated at the University of Pennsylvania, anft
became a lawyer of distinction in his native city. He was a promoter of the cause of
liberal education, and to his kindly personal traits we owe this famous national song. He
died in Philadelphia, January 15, 1842. I quote his account of the origin of " Hail Colum-
bia." " This song was written in the summer of 1798, when a war with France was thought
to be inevitable. Congress being then in session in Philadelphia, deliberating upon that
important subject, and acts of hostility having actually occurred. The contest between
England and France was raging, and the people of the United States were divided into
parties for one side or the other; some thinking that policy and duty required us to take
part with republican France, as the war was called ; others were for our connecting our-
selves with England, under the belief that she was the great preservative power of good
principles and safe government. The violation of our rights by both belligerents was
forcing us from the just and wise policy of President Washington, which was to do equal
justice to both, to take part with neither, but to keep a strict and honest neutrality between
them. The prospect of a rupture with France was exceedingly offensive to the portion of
the people who espoused her cause, and the violence of the spirit of party has never risen
higher, I think not so high, as it did at that time, on that question. The theatre was then
open in our city : a young man belonging to it, whose talent was as a singer, was about to
take his benefit. I had known him when he was at school. On this acquaintance, he
called on me on Saturday afternoon, his benefit being announced for the following Monday.
He said he had twenty boxes untaken, and his prospect was that he should suffer a loss
instead of receiving a benefit from the performance ; but that if he could get a patriotic
song adapted to the tune of the ' President's March,' then the popular air, he did not doubt
of a full house; that the poets of the theatrical corps had been trying to accomplish it,
but were satisfied that no words could be composed to suit the music of that march. I
told him I would try for him. He came the next afternoon, and the song, such as it is,
was ready for him. It was announced on Monday morning, and the theatre was crowded to
BAIL, COLUMBIA!
58?
excess and so continued, night after night, for the rest of the whole season the
scored and repeated many times each night, the audience joining in the ±
also sung at inght m the streets by large assemblies of citizens, including members™
usiasm ™ ~ ' aud the «• « ™> ' T •*?* SKi
« The object of the author was to get up an American spirit, which should be inde-
pendent of and above the interests, passions, and policy of both belligerents, and look and
feel exclusively for our own honor and rights. Not an allusion is made to either France
Enghmd, or the quarrel between them, or to what was the most in fault in their treat-
ment of us. Of course the song found favor with both parties- at least, neither could
Irsown the sentiments it inculcated. It was truly American and nothing else and the
patriotic feelings of every American heart responded to it.
" Such is the history of the song, which has endured infinitely beyond any expectation
the author, and beyond any merit it can boast of, except that of being truly and
exclusively patriotic in its sentiments and spirit."
The music of " Hail, Columbia" was written as a march, and went at first by the name
" General Washington's March." Later it was called " The President's March," and it
was played in 1789, when Washington came to New York to be inaugurated. A son of
Prof. PHYLA of Philadelphia, who was one of the performers, says it was his father's
composition. His statement is given by William McKay of Philadelphia. Mr. Custis, the
adopted son of Washington, mentions its having been composed in 1789 by a German
named FATLES, leader of the orchestra, and musical composer for the old John street
theatre, in New York, where he heard it played as a new piece on the occasion of General
Washington's first visit at this play-house. The two names (Phyla and Fayles) should, no
doubt, be identical, and the stories do not materially contradict each other.
1. Hail, Colum - bia, hap - py land! Hail, ye he - roes, heaven-born band I Who
2. Im-mor - tal Pa -triots ! rise once more ! De -fend your rights, de-fend your shore; Let
--—'?-
.. .-- 1 -pZfr.
fought and bled in free - dom's cause.Who fought and bled in free - dom's cause, And
no rude foe, with im - pious hand, Let no rude foe, with im - pious hand, In -
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
^^ — r^ ^ - i -
m-K^
when the storm of war was gone, En - joyed the peace your val - or won; Let
vade the shrine where sa - cred lies, Of toil and blood the well earned prize ; While
-t f f
In -de - pen - dence be your boast, Ev - er mind -ful what it cost,
off - 'ring peace, sin - cere and just, In heav'n we place a man - ly trust, That
—
*=£=p* F— T— =3
=^--*— »-— M
Ev - er grate - ful for the prize, Let its al - tar reach the skies,
truth and jus - tice may pre - vail, And ev - 'ry scheme of bon -clage fail !
£l •~~£ »:=$-*—Z=*—t-:2 iF^r^-f12 :— J^^^t3* *— -^ ?-
i- - * f=+^--^=|pi i|:=4==J==$=S=r|— 4=:
^^= ^rf
ZZIIZIZ* 9 » 3
CHORUS.
-»• . -0- -»• ' •*• •*•
Firm, u - nit - ed, let us be,
Rally - ing round our lib - er - ty,
flte
3
As a band of broth -ers join'd,
^
• »
^=^'
Peace and safe - ty we shall find.
is 2 •*- •*• ••• • -^ •*•
-- * — - ' - T"t~~
•
HAIL, COLUMBIA!
Sound, sound the trump of fame !
Let Washington's great name
Ring through the world with loud applause !
Ring through the world with loud applause !
Let every clime, to freedom dear,
Listen with a joyful ear;
With equal skill, with steady power,
He governs in the fearful hour
Of horrid war, or guides with ease
The happier time of honest peace.
Firm, united, etc.
589
Behold the chief, who now commands,
Once more to serve his country stands,
The rock on which the storm will beat,
The rock on which the storm will beat I
But armed in virtue, firm and true,
His hopes are fixed on Heaven and you ;
When hope was sinking in dismay,
When gloom obscured Columbia's day,
His steady mind, from changes free,
Resolved on death or Liberty.
Firm, united, etc.
ADAMS AND LIBERTY.
ROBERT TREAT PAINE, JR., author of " Adams and Liberty," was born in Taunton,
Mass., December 9, 1778. His father was a signer of the Declaration of Independence!
Paine's name was originally Thomas ; but he appealed to the Legislature to allow him
to take that of his father, Robert, on the ground that since Tom Paine had borne
tt he " had no Christian name." He was graduated at Harvard, and gave promise of an
uii.isually bright intellect. But he was vain, lazy, and vicious, and would do no work, even
with his pen, except when compelled by poverty. He married an actress, and was denied
his father's house and purse. He received enormous sums for his productions. His " Inven-
tion of Letters " brought him five dollars a line ; and for " Adams and Liberty " he received
seven hundred and fifty dollars, a fabulous sum for the time. Paine died in the attic of
his father's house, November 11, 1811.
After "Adams and Liberty" was written, Paine was dining with Major Benjamin Russell
of the Sentinel, when he was told that his song had no mention of Washington. The host
said he could not fill his glass until the error had been corrected, whereupon the author,
after a moment's thinking, scratched off the last stanza of the song as it now stands.
The air to which the words were written is an old English hunting-tune entitled
" Anacreon in Heaven." It was composed by SAMUEL ARNOLD who was born iu Oxford,
England, August 10, 1740, received a fine musical education, and before he was twenty-
three years old was composer for Covent Garden Theatre. He became organist to the
King, composer for the chapels royal, and conductor of the Academy of Ancient Music.
He died October 22, 1802.
V *i
1 1
— 1— =M ^=a-' — i — ! 1
i ^ • • -Vn
(6}4- — Is s
1 2 —
* * ~ * > "i
—I 1 * * -4 1 #*—
-tf» 0 m 4
^* 73. ^-i f-f a-1
k — -I/ LJ
1. Ye sons of Co -
2. In a clime whose rich
3. The fame of our
*-*••*-•* -f-
*^__^ "~—^ * ** iX^-^i?
lum - bia, who brave - ly have fought For those
vales feed the marts of the .world. Whose
arms, of our laws the mild sway. Had
>- — -u
* ;
^^^ .* 'i h- '-t
f * 3
590
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
1 1 — -.
JL , — * _ — g — — jj — « — • — — J -h | -|-
q --N -A , -j "*~i
rights which un - stain'd from your sires have de -scend - ed, May you long taste the
shores are un - shak - en by Eu - rope's com - mo - tion, The tri - dent of
just - ly en - no - bled our na - tion in sto - ry, Till the dark clouds of
». , J * * f J ». h ~~v * J *
S/ 1 f — jHg? p- Ti — T j.-; * I"* 1 1 [— | 1 * — q
x * • p fj, it U u " *• f J_..>
11 I
ii^ ^
V — *
— ~F ^ j~T~ ' ~f* ~^ — I
*, . € I ... xa J M
bless - ings your val - or has bought, And your sons reap the soil which your
com -merce should nev - er be hurl'd To in -crease the le - git - i - mate
fac - tion ob - scured our young day, And en - vel - op'd the sun of A -
t)-< f P L - * ** ' •
- u1 ! r -! ill v in* i*
-: ^ t^H-^— K 1 1
' * f — T ~Z~- f * 1
|$5=3=r-:^r -=£^=££*=$ — L-U
\F • •-* *-*-$ $- -^ -5 "U > ' 1 U
1 • ^
fa - there de - fend ed; 'Mid the reign of mild peace, May your na -tion in -
pow'rsof the o - cean; But should pi- rates in- vade, Tho' in thun - der ar-
mer - i - can glo - ry ; But let trai - tors be told, Who their coun - try have
*)• ?~*~2' ' 1 f * ~i? — tf ~~^~~ U i — \r -^ — ^ —
^ r" i — J-4> — p — i- — = ^ — 4-
p — J , , 4 — =fl
fe_J_ _J 0 3Z J uj d A *- ^ rj— ^J=^g =H
^7^ - __ ^TT^ 25
crease, With the glo - ry of Rome, and the wis - dom of Greece;
ray'd, Let "your can - non de - clare the free char - ter of trade;
sold, And bar - ter'd their God for his im - age in gold,
^t i/'.^} "^ F"_t: j? •• {^ .. Jt p |*r,.. • _. ^j
And ;
For C ^c'er shall the sons of Co lum - bia be
That )
i J i J J J J J Jd
IC|| — H *— » — — »~^ — ~ ' » — a — — « — — » — »*— 1
J - — * g •- • . — 0 2*
ADAMS AND LIBERTY. 59 1
L j— -J — i— «-
-^ — j « • *z
* •-
!=f *_*. *_'
~B) HI
P-<-j T' * — r~1
slaves, While the earth bears
9
\
—
P
& » «
• U
lant, or the
sea rolls a
wave.
PF-J *••* * *
»• ••• m %»• •».•*• -f- *• « ^ •*•
| j 1 W i . 1 1 i U b« — r — B 1 1 n
PI_I — - — * — $
-* —
r-f-
&— — ^ « —
— «= ~m
While France her huge limbs bathes recumbent in blood,
And society's base threats with wide dissolution,
May peace, like the dove who returned from the flood,
Find an ark of abode in our mild constitution.
But though peace is our aim,
Yet the boon we disclaim,
If bought by our sovereignty, justice, or fame;
For ne'er shall the sons, etc.
'Tis the fire of the flint each American warms ;
Let Rome's haughty victors beware of collision ;
Let them bring all the vassals of Europe in arms,
We're a world by ourselves, and disdain a provision.
While with patriot pride
To our laws we're allied,
No foe can subdue us, no faction divide ;
For ne'er shall the sons, etc.
Our mountains are crowned with imperial oak,
Whose roots, like our liberties, ages have nourished ;
But long ere our nation submits to the yoke,
Not a tree shall be left on the field where it flourished.
Should invasion impend,
Every grove would descend
From the hill-tops they shaded, our shores to defend;
For ne'er shall the sons. etc.
Let our Patriots destroy Anarch's pestilent worm,
Les't our liberty's growth should be checked by corrosion ;
Then let clouds thicken round us — we heed not the storm;
Our realm fears no shock but the earth's own explosion ;
Foes assail us in vain
Though their fleets bridge the main,
For our altars and laws, with our lives we'll maintain ;
For ne'er shall the sons, etc.
Let fame to the world sound America's voice :
No intrigue can her sons from the government sever ;
Her pride are her statesmen — their laws are her choice,
And shall flourish till Liberty slumbers forever.
Then unite heart and hand,
Like Leonidas' band,
And swear to the God of the ocean and land
That ne'er shall the sons, etc.
OUB FAMILIAB
Should the tempest of war overshadow our land,
Its bolts could ne'er rend Freedom's temple asunder;
For unmoved at its portals would Washington stand,
And repulse with his breast the assaults of the thunder:
Of its scabbard would leap,
His sword from the sleep
And conduct, with its point, every flash to the deep!
For ne'er shall the sons, etc.
THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.
FRANCIS SCOTT KEY, author of the words of " The Star-Spangled Banner," was born in
Frederick County, Maryland, August 1, 1779. His family were among the earliest settlers,
and his father was an officer in the Eevolutionary army. Francis was educated at St.
John's College, Annapolis, and became a lawyer in his native town. He wrote several
lyrics, with no thought of publication. They were scrawled upon the backs of letters and
so many odd scraps of paper that the sequence of the verses was a puzzle to the friends
who, after his death, attempted to gather all that had been written by the author of our
national song. Mr. Key was District Attorney of Washington, D. C., and died in that city,
January 11, 1843.
During the war of 1812-15, when the British fleet lay in Chesapeake Bay, Mr. Key
went out from Baltimore in a small boat, under a flag of truce, to ask the release of a
friend, a civilian, who had been captured. Lord Cockburn had just completed his plans
for an attack upon Fort McHenry, and instead of releasing one, he retained both. The
bombardment of the fort was begun on the morning of the 13th of September, 1814, and
continued for twenty-four hours. Key's little boat lay moored to the commander's vessel,
and through a day and a night, exposed to fire from his friends, he watched the flag which
Lord Cockburn had boasted would " yield in a few hours." As the morning of the 14th
broke, he saw it still waving in its familiar place. Then, as his fashion was, he snatched an
old letter from his pocket, and laying it on a barrel-head, gave vent to his delight in the
spirited song which he entitled " The defence of Fort McHenry." " The Star-Spangled
Banner n was printed within a week in the Baltimore Patriot, under the title of " The
Defence of Fort McHenry," and found its way immediately into the camps of our army.
Ferdinand Durany, who belonged to a dramatic company, and had played in a Baltimore
theatre with John Howard Payne, read the poem effectively to the soldiers encamped in
that city, who were expecting another attack. They begged him to set the words to music,
and he hunted up the old air of " Adams and Liberty," sei> the words to it, and sang it to
the soldiers, who caught it up amid tremendous applause. Durany died in Baltimore in
1815.
The Washington National Intelligencer of January 6, 1815, has this advertisement
conspicuously displayed on the editorial page :
STAR SPANGLED BANNER and YE SEAMEN OF COLUMBIA—
TV o favorite patriotic songs, this day received and for sale by
RICHARDS & MALLORY, BRIDGE STREET, Georgetown.
It is said that the particular flag which inspired the song was a new one that Gen.
George Armistead, the defender of Fort McHenry, had had made to replace the old one,
which was badly tattered. The new oanner was flung to the breeze for the first time on
the morning that his daughter Georgeanna was born, which event took place within the
THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.
593
fort, during the bombardment. By permission of the general government the hero of Fort
McHenry was allowed to retain the flag, and he provided in his will that the " Star-Spangled
Banner" should be the property of his daughter. This lady became the wife of W. Stuart
Appletou, Esq., of New York, and died in 1878. The flag is now in the possession of the
Massachusetts Historical Society.
In 1861 Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote the additional stanza which follows:
When our land is illumined with Liberty's smile,
If a foe from within strike a blow at her glory,
Down, down with the traitor that dares to defile
The flag of her stars and the page of her story!
By the millions unchained when our birthright was gained,
We will keep her bright blazon forever unstained I
And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph shall wave
While the land of the free is the home of the brave.
-U-Jlg 1
»—"«—]
: "i
— ^ ^ • N^^
EBbEEj* — JEEP — s
" •*•_•*• •*•
n
r
:-£=?»=
see by the dawn's ear - ly
seen thro' the mist of the
^•^
light, What so
deep Where the
2. On the shore, dim - I]
U | ?•>
imP 4
i
-fi- p ^ —
-8 ^— -^
__) ^
EF3 *— --3£ j»
H* jt — fr« --a. " '
R' \>1 i
\ i -r
-^ fi«
^ K
-^— — » —
j. L U_ U ^_ _^
5^1 3
1 j 1
B>
J£-, [? ^
1 — 4
N 1
proud - ly we
foe's haugh- ty
fefc-^ — ^n
* • • *
hail'd at the
host in dread
i — i h — i — i
t\vi - light's last
si - lence re -
w •*•• -J y
gleam-ing, Whos*
pos - es, What Is
* — -)
•*• . ••
- . 0 ' — — »
• •*•
-^F— r-
•*•
r f j — ,
— JT -I -.- 1 -—
2_^ — ji± ^ — * —
^ -
1 r r j *
-A a*
stripes and bright stars,
that which the breeze,
thro' the per - il - ous fight,
o'er the tow • er - ing steep,
O'er the
As it
o94
OUK FAMILIAR SONGS.
%&—•-• f — r—
i — i p
L
r . .0 ,__q
feL^_ .__^Zg-
ram • parts we
fit - ful - ly
m
watch 'd, were so gal- lant - ly
blows, half con - ceals, half dis -
_i 1 _/ -~ —
•*•
stream - ing ; And the
clo - ses? Now it
: J — __
_-_f ^__ W_
-*" • -»--*•
1* * ^
— 1
r S
» :
=} 1-
^-$ — «-^ — — * —
_-5 j
jftat
_ — 0 —
r * • r 0"-"
n* — * — w —
(
n -.
i__ — _ — . —
rock - et's red
;atch - es the
J J J
glare, the bombs
gleam. of the
•' ^ J
burst - ing in
morn - ing's first
1 J J
. ]^ ^_ — _
air, Gave
beam, In full
1 1
abt
J ^ 1—
-t~ — i — f-
' J W__
_g_ __^_
m^
<P ' - -
9 *
p
«/
^^
\
— -r
\ \
^f, t?
1 ^
* j
... $
«»'.
— & — — * —
*
jfctf- *-; £ 1
a i
9 1
1
^nj~ i-j • —
0
— hi~
— ^
proof thro' the
glo - ry re -
n ,, J , ^ ^
night that our
fleet - ed, now
1 N 1 1
f y0
flag was still
shines in the
there!
stream ;
1 p -1
' • i )
f-
u^^r _E____________!
w • •) ^
5 i
v \J * * __! c
W • M 9,
4 J \>-0 --
_i*
•w A H j»
-4
vV J • ~~* =
_, , •
=4
/ CHORUS.
say, does that
2. 'Tis tne star span - gled
3, 4. And the star span - gled
5. And the star span - gled
star span - gled ban - ner yet
ban - ner, Oh! long may it
ban - ner in tri - umph doth
ban - ner in tri - umph shall
'
— S— b« — i
5EET=E-I£E^E5FiE E*
~^7^I ^.9 J^ —
STAB-SPANGLED BANNER.
595
1,2,3,4. wave, O'er the land
5. wave, While the land
of the
of the
free
free
and the home of
is the home of
the
the
brave!
brave !
ig^E
i
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore,
'Mid the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country they'd leave us no more?
Their blood has wash'd out their foul footsteps' pollution •,
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave,
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave,
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
Oh thus be it ever when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war's desolation ;
Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heaven-rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto, " In God is our trust,"
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave,
While the land of the free is the home of the brave.
MY COUNTRY, 'TIS OF THEE.
THE author of the words of "America" is SAMUEL FRANCIS SMITH, D.D., who was born
in Boston, October 21, 1808, and was for many years pastor of the First Baptist Church in
Newton, Mass. Since his resignation he has been devoted to literary and religious
pursuits. It is of him that Oliver Wendell Holmes says, in his poem entitled " The Boys : »
"And there's a nice fellow of excellent pith, —
Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith,
But he shouted a song for the brave and the free,—
Just read on his medal, ' My Country, of thee ! ' "
In a letter dated Newton Centre, Mass., June 11, 1861, Dr. Smith says: "The song was
written at Andover during my student life there, I think in the winter of 1831-2.
first used publicly at a Sunday-school celebration of July 4th, in the Park Street
Boston I had in my possession a quantity of German song-books, from which I
selecting such music as pleased me, and finding ' God save the King/ I proceed*
it the ring of American republican patriotism."
596
OUE FAMILIAR SONGS,
ic^r-
j -j —1 — i
N __i — _
-4— —4— —w 4
'^ ' •••[• ••••]
p ^
1. M
2. M
• -m ^ — • — j~
j w 0 .1. g-
y coun - try I 'tis
y na - tive coun
' _3 T~ * '
: :-^=-
of thee, g
try! thee, 1
-0 -0 € _}.
weet land of Li
..iii'l of the no
=*— ^— ^-fc-E
3
b - er • ty,
ble free,
1 J H
: .. - t - -f.
\ ' '
1 ' |
Hh — | ^ — i — p.
^ 1 }
w if i
i r j i
10 0
* f- - j -i
* i_l
H - - f
5 • « _ J
0 m ' '0,
f/_f5 M
0 J ,-0 *
f f
• * s
0 ' * 9
V" 12 ^
j 5 ' ""4-
\ \
Of
Thy i
•> 0 CS
thee I sing ;
lame I love ;
Land where
I love
1— *—
my fa - there diec
thy rocks and rills
; Land of the
, Thy woods and
1 __j
1 ^ L_
__p 1 -]
^L#_^ £ I
i • i i
-j-f — 4-^ — — 9 0 —
1 — *-^ — i-
=qa
$& * ' * 1-
— * 0 * •* 0 \ 0-. J 0
\ 0 P t 2
—<s^—4\
tr- -I ! — fc
pil - grim's pride; From ev - 'ry moun - tain side,
tern - pled hills, My heart with rap - tare thrills
CSSr
Let free - dom ring.
Like that a - bove.
•*• — •*• •*• o •
if\*ii I '
— f- * »-
» • r
i 1
P * II
&/*-*—•-* — — f — »—
1 — u .. — y . .[_ —
-| -tj ^~
— r —
1 11
Let music swell the breeze,
And ring among the trees
Sweet freedom's song :
Let mortal tongues awake,
Let all that breathe partake,
Let rocks their silence break,
The sound
Our fathers' God ! to thee,
Author of liberty !
To thee we sing ;
Long may our land be bright
With freedom's holy light,
Protect us by thy might,
Great God, our King !
MORAL AND RELIGIOUS SONGS.
Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Then all the jarring notes of life
Seem blending in a psalm,
And all the angles of its strife
Slow rounding into calm.
-John Greenleaf
Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals
The blast of war's great organ shakes the skies,
But beautiful as songs of the immortals
The holy melodies of love arise.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
MORAL AND RELIGIOUS SONGS,
THE SPIDER AND THE FLY.
IT is a singular coincidence that the two most intimately associated married names in
political and literary life in England, should be identical— the William and Mary who
wielded the sceptre, and the William and Mary who wielded the pen. MARY HOWITT was
born at TJttoxeter, Staffordshire, England, about 3804. Her young days were passed
there, until she married. With her husband she studied, travelled, wrote and published
in prose and poetry. She had children of unusual brightness, and we may fancy that it
was for their delight and instruction she wrote " The Spider and the Fly." The music for
it has been attributed to Henry Russell, who used to sing it in his concerts ; but it is an
old English air, " Will you come to the bower."
0 b > N
^ N h ^ h ^
-f*-
|
js S
M — f-
-f-1
fny^A* — H — •
— i —
< —
^ ^ «M
*
— — i —
-^ —
4 d-
*-* — • — ' • • — * — • — 0 — 0^ 0 — 0 — * — '
j ("Will you walk in - to my par- lor?" said a
on - ly got to pass your head with -
2 f "Will you grant me one sweet kiss?" said the
" ( if, per-chance our lips should meet, a
L_y_ — ^_
spi - der
in side
spi - der
wa - ger
. f-
0 N=^ •
to a fly, " Tis the
of the doo'r, You'll
to the fly ; " To
I would lay, Of
• -
feX b 4 i — p — :
? S f $ $ S ?
:
~^T
f t y V V
_^
(^
— ^ X S N V-
\ I I
\f i
— K
— t — tc=
H IS ,
pret - tiest lit • tie par - lor that
see so ma - ny cu - rious things you
taste your charm- ing lips I've a
ten to one you woula not oft - en
I* 1* (• 1*' "l* r* 1*
g-b— f- f- " —
ev - er you
nev • er saw
cu - ri - os •
let them come
* 0. 0.
did spy; You have
be • fore;— Omit Id time.
i - ty; But.
a - way,— Omit 2d time.
— dH? 5—
X
5
— 5 — 5 — 6 — i
p U — 'V— J
Will
— 0 0 = 0 0 0 — 9 Jf. -J.
you, will you, will you, will you walk in, Mis - ter Flyf
• » ?" t 0 0 . 0 0- r* 0 -m
600
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
f\ " h K
i
is -3
f J P 1 II
j — <
i ^
J
-T- — J 9 » —
— * 1 • J J H
J j
ill y
»
P 1
ou, wi
J=f
11 you, w
•
ill you, will you
-0- /~*
i==g= V g
• t
walk in, Mis - ter Flyf'
j r j f ^ u
p i? —
7 1 ^— -&
-^ — ? — t: — J — F — 1-
"For the last time, now, I ask you, will you walk in, Mister Fly?"
" No ; if I do, I may be shot, I'm off — so now, good bye ! "
Then up he springs, but both his wings were in the web caught fast.
The spider laughed, " Ha, ha, my boy, I've caught you safe at last."
" Will you, will you," etc.
Now all young men, take warning by this foolish little fly,—
For pleasure is the spider's web, to catch you it will try;
And although you may think that my advice is quite a bore,
You're lost if you stand parleying outside of pleasure's door.
" Will you, will you," etc.
" Will you walk into my parlor?" said a spider to a fly ;
'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things to show when you are there."
" Oh no, no ! " said the little fly, " to ask me is in vain ;
For who goes up your winding stair, can ne'er come down again."
" I'm sure you must be weary with soaring up so high ;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the spider to the fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin;
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in."
" Oh no, no ! " said the little fly, "for I've often heard it said,
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed."
Said the cunning spider to the fly, " Dear friend, what shall I do,
To prove the warm affection, I've always felt for you?
I have, within my pantry, good store of all that's nice ;
I'm sure you're very welcome — will you please to take a slice?"
"Oh no, no ! " said the little fly, "kind sir, that cannot be ;
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see."
"Sweet creature," said the spider, "you're witty and you're wise;
How handsome are your gauzy wings ! how brilliant are your eyes \
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf;
If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."
" I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say,
And bidding you good morning, now, I'll call another day."
The spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly fly would soon be back again ;
So he wove a subtle thread in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready to dine upon the fly.
He went out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
" Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver wing ;
Your robes are green and purple, there's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, hut mine are dull as lead."
THE SPIDER AND THE FLY.
Alas, alas ! how very soon this silly little fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by:
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then nearer, nearer drew —
Thought only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue ;
Thought only of her crested head,— poor foolish thing ! At last
Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den
Within his little parlor — but she ne'er came out again !
And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you, ne'er give heed:
Unto an evil counsellor close heart and ear and eye,
And learn a lesson from this tale of the spider and the fly.
THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.
THE author of the words of the following song, ALISON KUTHERFURD, was born at
Fairnalee, Selkirkshire, Scotland, 1712. In writing to the Kev. Dr. Douglas, she says: "I
can this minute figure myself running as fast as a greyhound, in a hot summer day, to
have the pleasure of plunging into the Tweed to cool me. I see myself wrapt in my
petticoat, on the declivity of the hill at Fairnalee, letting myself roll down to the bottom,
with infinite delight. As for the chase of the silver spoon at the end of the rainbow,
nothing could exceed my ardor, except my faith which created it. I can see myself the
first favorite at Lamothe's dancing, and remember turning pale and red with the ambition
of applause. I am not sure if ever I was so vain of any lover or admirer as I was of the
heavenly affection of your predecessor, whom, by his own assignation, I rode over from
Fairnalee at six in the morning to meet. * * * He embraced me with fervor,
and said I would not repent losing some hours sleep to see for the last time an old man,
who was going home. He naturally fell into a description of his malady, checked himself,
and said it was a shame to complain of a bad road to a happy home ; ' and there ' said he,
< is my passport/ pointing to the Bible; Met me beg, my young friend, you will study
it: you are not yet a Christian, but you have an inquiring mind, and cannot fail to
become one.'"
Miss Eutherfurd was one of the beauties of the circle that counted among its members
Lady Anne Lindsay and Jane Elliot, of Minto. Her correspondence shows her to have been
a brilliant and noblewoman. In 1731 she married Patrick Cockburn, of Ormiston. Of
this event she afterward wrote: "I was married, properly speaking, to a man of seventy,
five— my father-in-law" [step-father J ; and at another time she says: " I was twenty years
united to a lover and a friend." Mrs. Cockburn was forty-one years old when her husband
died, and her house in Edinburgh was the gathering-place for some of the finest literary
minds of the day. She died in that house, November 22, 1794.
There was a tradition in the family that Mrs. Cockburn's song, "The Flowers of the
Forest," was in some way connected with the name or fate of a young lover who died
about the time she was married. The song was supposed to refer to the noblemen who
fell at Flodden, and with them many of the most gallant archers of « The Forest," the home
of Mrs. Cockburu, in Selkirkshire. Mr. Chambers, an intimate friend of Mrs. Cockburn, it
an account of her says the song was occasioned -by a commercial disaster, by which seveu
noblemen of the Forest were rendered insolvent in one year; but Mrs. Cockburn s corres*
602
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
pondence seems to indicate that the verses she wrote for the occasion were different, and
that this song was written long before the financial calamity, and did refer to the eventful
battle of Flodden. Mrs. Cockburn's song has been spoken of in some collections, as an
imitation of Jane Elliot's " Flowers of the Forest." The fact is, Mrs. Cockburn's song was
written many years earlier than that of Miss Elliot, who was fifteen years her junior.
The air to which the words were first set was three centuries old. but it has been
superseded by a more modern one.
.* Larghetto
1. I've seen the smil - ing
2. I've seen the morn - ing
of
with
for - tune be - guil - ing, I've
gold the hills a - dorn - ing, And
m
--
i —
3=*
IP
-e-
f=T
r
felt all its fa-vors, and found its de-cay;
loud tempests storm-ing be - fore the mid-day;
Sweet was her bless-ing and
I've seen Tweed's silver streams,glit-
£— — t
w I Z=|g-
_J u *a-
T^—=^
T
r-*
kind her ca - ress- ing, But now they are fled, they are
t'ring in the sunny beams,Grow drum - lie and dark as they
fled
roll'd
far a-way.
on their way.
^
P
^^
I've seen the for - est a - dorn - ed the fore-most, Wi' flow'rs o' the fair - est baith
O fick - le for - tune I why this cru-el sport -ing? Oh! why thus per-plex us poor
THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.
5=1
603
now they are with - er'd
flow'rs o> the for - est
and
are
wede
wede
a - way.
a - way.
A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT.
IN the letter to Mr. Thomson, the Scottish song-collector, which accompanied the first
copy of his song " A Man's a Man for a' That," BURNS wrote : « A great critic, Aiken, on
songs, says that love and wine are the exclusive themes for song- writing ; the following is
one on neither subject, and consequently is no song, but will be allowed, I think, to be two
or three pretty good prose thoughts inverted into rhyme."
The world had decided against Mr. Aiken, and Beranger, — who is called the Burns of
Prance, — used to say that this song was not a song for one age, but for an eternity. It
seems to me that Burns describes it correctly.
jtt. •> 2 |N . .- • |* J JS-
-r J ^ f
—f-i — •* — : — N-
— h N ^~. m T K-
1. Is there for lion- est
2. What though on hamely
3. Ye see yon birk - ie,
-0-b-n r— ^ ' 1
i-J -^ — UH-U % ' — JH-^ — ^ — J-I-T jj
pov - er - ty That hangs his head, an' a' that? The cow-ard slave we
fare we dine,Wear hod-den-gray, and a' that, Gie fools their silks, and
ca'ed a lord, Wha struts and stares, and a' that, Tho' hundreds worship
p-T— . 1 — ]— -^— 1 (—
F?= =4=
F3== =^q
J J '
^^=4_ ._^ j
-t\ ^»
-a s
-*-:
— •! 3
J 0 9 9
• • m * * m • * »
-4
i
H b
— ^ — — • —
- F 1
=t==f=
\ -L»— —^ , ^ — ^ 1 .
604
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
iy i " — Ps — — 2 ff 1 «
9—. y N-|-
--*—*-
m' f -i • I EC
• « f i
pass him by, We daur be puir for a' that. For
knaves their wine ; A man's a man for a' that. For
at his word, He's but a coof for a* that. For
a' that, and a'
a' that, and a'
a' that, and a'
^ ix j
that, Our
that.Their
that, His
(pil
Wnr-S
- =jt= -q
J
d
- -i IH
9 ^^
J r *;
J ,
9 F j
frrr —
~J b ^ — 9 — 1
*—fr \< f
f- g r- * J
^[-/ W
I' yf if
V
L " I/ i •
toils obscure, and a'
tin - sel show and a'
rib-bon, star, and a'
Q h J » ,-— 1—
that; The rank is but the guinea's stamp,The man's the gowd for a' that,
that, The hon-est man, tho' e'er sae puir, Is king o' men for a' that,
that, The man of in - de-pend-ent mind Can look and laugh at a' that.
^ — r~
— M — 2 —
"l~=i «
SF — S 5 *-=-
5
9 f
-i i
ty
, v. . f . . ,-*
^ — r^—- — 9 —
>•> « «
fe£fi—\
• f •
M
. t
•f~~=i — r ~~r
t — H
*-*b- — *
,-:
~9
E —
V- -V-
-f-^-
A king can mak' a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!
For a' that, and a' that,
Their dignities and a' that,
The pith o' sense, the pride o' worth,
Are higher ranks than a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a' that,
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
May bear the gree and a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
It's comin' yet for a' that,
When man to man, the warld o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.
THERE'S A GOOD TIME COMING.
JOHN BLACK, long and widely known as editor of the London Morning Chronicle,
writing to CHARLES MACZAY, says : " I think I have heard during the last half-dozen years
your song of ' There's a good time coming/ oftener sung by the people, than I have ever
heard any one song sung during the course of my life." At the close of Mackay's first visit to
America, Oliver Wendell Holmes addressed to him the exquisite poem beginning:
" Brave singer of the coming time,
Sweet minstrel of the joyous present,
Crowned with the noblest wreath of rhyme,
The holly-leaf of Ayrshire's peasant,
Good bye ! Good bye ! — Our hearts and hands,
Our lips in honest Saxon phrases,
Cry, God be with him, till he stands
His feet among the English daisies I "
/L E=a j> a:
•
N K J J1
{• •
k. J J J
* J 1
fm * 4 9 (
p •
m. ' *
!f • • m *
•
fin "*
J J
5
1, 2. There's a good time
cora-ing, boys, A
good time
— ! — ' — i — h
coming, There's a good time
- ~ i ~T ' ! J ""] 1
L__L
f
p=r r — i
! ^ J *
— j -f 1
Ti
1 ' J •-
h
•
i — t—^
^ *• 4—
i j.. ,.
— * —
-^—
— \
— r —
-j — ' — i
THERE'S A GOOD TIME COMING.
605
corn-ing, boys, Wait a lit- tie long - er.fWe may not live to see the dav, But
{ The pen shall su - per - sede the sword.And
ad lib.
^=qg=HE^^-^-^— J—J— -«ELjl
._
— a a
1 ~* M
* — -v — ^ *L4-H — - — — 5 — J__
earth shall glis- ten in the ray Of the
right, not might, shall be the lord In the
— i - i
— ft 0 l_|t " "g p =j
J J .^J- * J C C C C
good time coming, Can-non balls may
good time coining. Worth, not birth, shall
^ 1 g- . = -V-, =S=
£&« t f * f\T ,1 H =]
:3F=^
f iry-
P'l 1-
w5
f m • si
-^
" N
FSp
C=l — •' ' ! ' ' j i J H
-J J-
•~l< — — jt 1 —
^=grrt^-^
aid the truth, But thought's a wea-pon strong -er; We'll win our bat - tie by its aid,
rule man-kind, And be acknowledged strong - er;The prop-er im - pulse has been giv-en,
pm
W
M
^ ad lib. tempo.
S
Wait a lit - tie long- er. Ohl There's a good time coming, boys, A good tini.
. .
^3
606
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
o > r~ ir'?
i-^ «i i " p
com- ing, There's a good time com - ing, boys, Wait a lit - tie long - or.
i
f=f
^^
There's a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming :
Hateful rivalries of creed,
Shall not make their martyrs bleed,
In the good time coming.
Religion shall be shorn of pride,
And flourish all the stronger;
And charity shall trim her lamp —
Wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming;
War in all men's eyes shall be
A monster of iniquity,
In the good time coming.
Nations shall not quarrel, then,
To prove which is the stronger;
Nor slaughter men for glory's sake —
Wait a little longer.
CALLER HERRIN'.
THIS song of LADY NAIRNE'S illustrates the power of imagination in an odd way.
Lady Nairne kept her authorship scrupulously concealed, and she sent this song tu its
destination by the only friend who was in her secret. It was written for the benefit of
Nathaniel Gow, a musical composer, son of the celebrated Neil Gow. He did not know ii>
source, and as the song, set to an air which his father had made, became a favorite where-
ever the musician played it, there was much speculation as to its origin. The whole pro-
duction was attributed to Neil Gow, and accounted for by the story that it was suggested t<j
him while listening to the bells of St. Andrew's Church in Edinburgh, mingled with the
cries of the fish-women who vend their herrings in the street. These women are notorious
for their exorbitant demands, and as the purchaser offers about one third of the price
asked, there is much higgling before the bargain is concluded, which generally ends with
the irresistible appeal alluded to in the song, " Lord bless ye, mem ! it's no fish ye're buy-
ing, it's the lives o' honest men ! "
Moderate.
Wha'll buy cal - ler her - rin'? They're bonnie fish and halesome far - in' ; Buy my cal - ler her - rin%
CALLER
607
F^f^faQ3*^
' — ^^ST—*— -0~m-~t^~ ,
22:? z a
-1 0-
Wha'llbuycal-ler her - rin'? They're bonnie fish andhalesome far -in'; Buy mycal-ler her - rin'
—s — ^ •-
•* •* *
^
Tft*
? *
ifc j^=g=z -?<-y — ^-?:
• ' f f * f_* * f u»— , "f- ,s ^ ,N ,^-r^fe
^=fe=b=^=t==^=t?=: r ; * > -J=3=*=
New drawn frae the Forth, Wha'll buy my cal - ler her-r in'? They're no brought here without brave darin',
« ^ !,<-'
fr^j.
608
OtfB FAMILIAR SONGS.
a=f-tf=: —+-^—r
*=$=&-+-*==£
-_?n5_s
Buy my cal- ler her - rin', Ye lit -tie ken their worth. Wha'll buy my cal - ler her- rin'? O
dim.
z
ye may ca' them vul -gar fa - rin' Wives and mith -ers maist despair-in', Ca' them lives o' men.
:=4=:
=--f — 3_s
;— *•
^^
b^J-y-J--*^
-^- b:
This recalls the following anonymous Scottish poem, which uses the refrain that gave
rise to Lady Nairne's song : —
The farmer's wife sat at the door, a pleasant sight to see ;
And blithesome were the wee, wee bairus that played around her knee.
When, bending 'neath her heavy creel, a poor fish- wife came by,
And, turning from the toilsome road, unto the door drew nigh.
She laid her burden on the green, and spread its scaly store,
With trembling hands and pleading words she told them o'er and o'er.
But lightly laughed the young guidwife, " We're no sae scarce o' cheer;
Tak' up your creel, and gang your ways, — I'll buy nae fish sae dear."
Bending beneath her load again, a weary sight to see ;
Right sorely sighed the poor fish-wife, " They're dear fish to me !
" Our boat was oot ae fearfu' night, and when the storm blew o'er,
My husband, and my three brave sons, lay corpses on the shore.
" I've been a wife for thirty years, — a childless widow three;
I maun buy them now to sell again, — they're dear fish to me 1 "
The farmer's wife turned to the door, — what was't upon her cheek?
What was there rising in her breast, that then she scarce could speak?
She thought upon her ain guidman, her lightsome laddies three ;
The woman's words had pierced her heart, — " They're dear fish to me ! "
" Come back," she cried, with quivering voice, and pity's gathering tear;
" Come in, come in, my poor woman, ye're kindly welcome here.
" I kentna o' your aching heart, your weary lot to dree ;
I'll ne'er forget your sad, sad words : ' They're dear fish to me ! ' "
Ay, let the happy-hearted learn to pause ere they deny
The meed of honest toil, and think how much their gold may buy, —
How much of manhood's wasted strength, what woman's misery, —
What breaking hearts might swell the cry : " They're dear fish to me 1 "
THE ARROW AND THE SONG.
THE ARROW AND THE SONG.
609
THE words of this song were written by LONGFELLOW. The composer of the music,
MICHAEL WILLIAM BALFE,was bora in Dublin, Ireland, May 15, 1808. At the age of eight,
he played a concerto on the violin at a public concert, and a year later he wrote a ballad,
"The Lover's Mistake," which Madame Vestris introduced into the opera of "Paul Pry."
In 1823 he went to London with Charles Edward Horn, as an articled pupil. He was soon
engaged as principal violinist at the Drury lane oratorios, and in the orchestra under
Thomas Cooke. He was also cultivating his rich baritone voice. Count Mazzara, fancying
he resembled a son whom his wife had lost, took young Balfe to Kome, where the Countess
received him tenderly. He studied in Eome, Milan, and Paris, and in the latter city, ap-
peared as Figaro in the " Barber of Seville," and made a great success. He came to the
United States with his wife, and sang in opera, and, returning to London, appeared in his
own first opera, " The Siege of Eochelle." From that time he devoted himself especially
to composition, and produced his well-known operas, of which "The Bohemian Girl" is
the most popular. Balfe died in London October 20, 1870.
I shot an ar-row in - to the air, It fell to earth, I
IS
F~1 rT~ TTfi T ~?
^la^JEEE
:=J H
S 5 5 3
610
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
-9 9 * g»-
I breath'd a song
f*
•*• •*• -+ -+
dim.
**
•» •* •*•»•*
43 4 4 4
T
33333
fX3==f=£=3
2335^
1
j^-^jp-— 1—
T f
t —
— r : .
Jb — _£ j _
TT-K -K
^-tt — * «
•J
• — , e.
_j , — i
* J i '
tne
j ]
know not where ;
-^ 14=
^ 3
it ••
t *
i
r-s
!• -9
-
*
?- <
a
it •»
1 j i .. j_,.
r~ * ' *~
•? •?
-s 0 — 0 ti~
•at 5 "*" __
' — — fr i '
— «— — i » ar-^
-9r -0r
44
3
3 333
I£±I£=^^F r'~7~^-^ E!J^^^^EE;EE^
For who has sight so keen and strong, That it can fol - low the
1 1 \_
Zft
*f
^H
4
Ef
-*-
flight of a song?
For who has sight so keen and so strong,.
3
^^J
ff^^f^^
i£r*
., i j
*
5= -••«
•* •*• -*••*•—(•
-; i=
•»t it
THE ARROW AND THE SONG.
611
LlEE^
That it can fol
low the flight of a song?
::1— :
:z)=: =
1 -- 1
dim.
~
535
1-4- J« *=2=3
Long, long af - forwards,
PF
^
3 3
» v
^P^ ^F- ^w^ ^PT -wr
^ u =t 33
•*••*••*• W" TT
^:=3=*^
3 u 3 3
rr^f
— — 'H ' ^ '™ ' ^ K
^E^=.=fc
1
in an oak.
I found the ar - row still un - broke;
3 S
3 3333
And the song from be-ginning to end, I found a -gain in the hemi
i==J===i=:j=^;==5^^— ^ g«F~^ i £"- * * $* +
612
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
dim.
And the §ong from be - gin - ning to end,
4?*=S-
&— i
PP
I found a -gain in the
— i j 1
1 -J
j=-! ^J
f»— *
/ /#/«.
f
«-
cres.
Z7TT-
•- /• f j i
-B » S * -1
heart of a friend,
£feb— i i—
I found a - gain,
. ? f . — r — r — & d
1 <s ^ ^
I found a - gain.
P±=4 §_ ; — j
P
- —
<7V.r.
3= ET d=E^
3= — 1 1- -s i
a 1 ! — B
_-5 H=— -j — --J
5 3*55
7 3
cres. riten.
— N K— T '^- •• ^-=: — »~N Ki — I ?
I found a -gain in the heart of a friend!
!=J==J=:
cres. riten.
tempo
==^ _J_^^rE^^-JL-J IT-. l-i+4-p- =T~
•*• •*•
3 *
•*••*• •*•
?l
j— j—^
•*• dim.
w
PPP
r
3=*
\ — -jKg-
•*• *•
THE CARRIER BIRD.
THE CARRIER BIRD.
613
THE carrier dove of the East has long been one of the romantic objects of song and
story j but it is always associated with messages of love or warning except in this simple
instance, in which MOORE uses it to point a pleasant moral. The duet to which " The Car-
rier Bird" is set, was composed by SILAS BRUCE.
1. The bird let loose in east - era skies, When hast - 'ning fond-ly home, Ne'er
2. So grant me, God, from ev' - ry care And stain of pas- sion free, A-
Tl, 4
i
ft
9
^m
dtfi:
£
P^
i i
stoops to earth her wing, nor flies Where i - die war - biers roam ; .
loft, through Vir-tue's pur - er air, To hold my course to Thee I.
But
No
£_j » J >
fi^r-b- a-^— — f-i
p=f= =i=
1 j IT1]
i ^ . 1 ^ ^ i
d
\
-J-8 1 — i
^P • •
_ — ^
high
sin
FT^
de - lay,
she shoots thro' air and light, A - bove all low
to cloud, no lure to stay My soul, as home she springs:..
i
Where
Thy
t
=£=4£
ad lib.
=*= __
s?.--s&<sh-£r 'srtt^.Bf ssa dinmss as.
C C '
614
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
THE BEGGAR GIRL.
THIS little English ballad has enjoyed great popularity. Among other notices of it
there is a minute account of its having been sung with a wonderful effect by a military
officer at an anniversary dinner given at the sea-bathing infirmary, at Margate, in
August, 1807.
The melody was composed by PIERCY.
Grazioso.
\
1. O - ver the mount- ain and o - ver the moor, Hun - gry and bare - foot I
2. Call me not la - zy-back beg - gar, and bold e-nough, Fain would I learn both to
3. Oh! think,while you rev- el so care - less and free, Se - cure from the wind, and well
m
i
t
wan - der for - lorn, My fa - ther is dead, and my moth - er is poor, And she
knit and to sew; I've two lit - tie broth -ers at home,when they're old e-nough,
cloth - ed and fed, Should for - tune so change it, how hard it would be To
grieves
They
beg
for the days that will nev - er re - turn,
will work hard for the gifts you be - stow.
at a door for a mor - sel of bread!
THE BEGGAR GIRL,
615
^=^=3:
~N NT
5E
Cold blows the wind, and the night's com- ing on; Give me some food for my
1L, -
moth - er for char - i - ty, Give me some food, and then I will be gone
TOO LATE.
THIS song is sung by the "little maid" to Queen Guinevere, in TENNYSON'S poem of
that name in " Idyls of the King." The music is by Miss LINDSAY, an English lady.
Andante Lar ghetto. :>
I£==*=Z-H».-. *-' I I "^^^^P^-^i
£- =3r3==i= :=*=^3S^B
Late, late, so late I and dark the night, and chill 1
:3
:f
-\ — -I ^ — : — ^ — -l — 9 r
&=
•g ^ — y ^p ~~^rz:
Late, late, so late! But
_ — £! —1 —1^^. ^z
-N— — — =
EEEM=
3~T
616
OUK FAMILIAR SONGS.
m
*—*
Too late— too
-9- -r
late, ye cannot en-ter now.
EEg
-?
-*1
5±
jt-9-ripi
3
3=3=1=:
No light had we; for that we do re-pent, And, learn - ing this, the
•*• Jf
hridegroom will re-lent— Too late! too late! ye cannot en-ter
3=^
sf
sf^
i r
-l-j— I
now,
Too late, Too late, ye cannot en-ter now.
^=1= =^-M-^-jq
3
TOO LATE.
m
No light! so late! and dark and chill the night, O let us in,
that
•»
r
•*• .
/
r-H^rt
we may find the light,
O let us in, that we may find the light.
Too late, too late, ye cannot en -ter now.
P-
¥$==x=- j
-
1 — 1 \ 1
1 7 < T~
— tj P
Too late, too late, ye cannot en -ter now
618
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
:*=*:
Have we not heard, the bridegroom is so sweet,
O let us in, that
•+•*-+ -+-*-+
s;3:
m
-*—
0 let us in, tho' late, to kiss.... his feet.
7 J fc — * fr-i ^
r ~z
4=
^
^
N
No! no!
Too
late, ye can-not en-ter now.
=:
•
T f
r^
r
qz=z^=:a
*—i •* — &
—-
, ,
•*•••••••
TOO LATE.
Late, late, so late ! and dark the night, and chill !
Late, late, so late ! but we can enter still.
Too late ! too late ! ye cannot enter now,
Too late — too late, ye cannot enter now.
No light had we : — for that we do repent,
And learning this the bridegroom will relent.
Too late — too late —ye cannot enter now.
Too late, too late, ye cannot enter now —
No light ! so late ! and dark and chill the night,
O let us in, that we may find the light,
Too late, too late, ye cannot enter now,
Too late ! too late ! ye cannot enter now.
Have we not heard, the bridegroom is so sweet,
O let us in, that we may kiss his feet.
O let us in, O let us in,
O let us in, tho' late, to kiss his feet!
No ! no ! too late, ye cannot enter now.
O let us in, that we may find the light
EVENING SONG TO THE VIRGIN.
THE words to the following sweet and familiar air, were written by MRS. HEMANS It
.& the hymn sung by a Eoman Catholic wife, and is contained in "The Forest Sanctuary."
The listening woman says :
Thy sad, sweet hymn, at eve, the seas along,—
Oh 1 the deep soul it breathed I — the love, the woe,
The fervor, poured in that full gush of song,
As it went floating through the fiery glow
Of the rich sunset ! — bringing thoughts of Spain,
With all her vesper-voices, o'er the main,
Which seemed responsive in its murmuring flow.
" Ave sanctissima ! " — how oft *hat lay
Hath melted from my heart the martyr-strength away.
" Ora pro nobis, Mater ! " What a spell
Was in those notes, with day's last glory dying
On the flushed waters— seemed they not to swell
From the far dust, wherein my sires were lying
With crucifix and sword ? — Oh I yet how clear
Comes their reproachful sweetness to mine ear!
" Ora," — with all the purple waves replying,
All my youth's visions risiug in the strain —
And I had thought it much to bear the rack and chain!
A - ve Sane - tis -si -ma,
We lift our souls to
m m m ft
thee;
O - ra
jfe^^3^B3
9~- jr-g-»—-r~*
^g^JIPli
Far o'er the wa - ter spread, Hear the heart's lone - ly sigh, Thine too hath bled.
620
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
• r
d=fc^z
**• •* •*•
Thou that hast look'd on death, Aid us when death is near; Whis - per of
ftfdtfe
r~rr
== ^=g=g=pE= =g=TS==f^Ii=T=
F -|r-f^==ti :gizi^=^
— r — ^t — ^— - rT^^F—
;g=^=4i ! N~T=^=q — B- ^ — -"^Ffe — ^T===^:ff:::^:=i::=:^-"^P:t~==?:=:
heav'n to faith, Sweet mother,
sweet mother, hear!
O - ra pro no - bis, The
wave must rock our sleep,
O - ra, Ma - ter, O - ra, Star of the deep.
THE RAINY DAY.
THE author of " The Eainy Day," HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFSLLOW, was born in Port-
land, Maine, February 27, 1807. He was for many years professor of modern languages and
literature at Harvard, and resided in Cambridge till his death in March, 1882.
The music is by WILLIAM EICHARDSON DEMPSTER, who was born in Keith, Scotland, in
1809. He spent his early life in Aberdeen, where he was apprenticed to a quill-maker, but
simply followed the bent of his own genius iu quitting his trade and devoting himself to
music. He emigrated to the United States, remained several years hero, and iii'trnvard, by
frequent voyages, spent his life about equally ou the two sides of the Atlantic.
One of his earliest successful publications was his music for Tennyson's " May Queen,*
and the frequent songs introduced in Tennyson's longer poems became his especial favorites
for composition ; indeed, his musical setting of these is the work by which he is best known,
and his own singing of them constituted the chief attraction of his concerts. Their popu-
lar success was much greater in America than in Great Britain. His voice lacked the
strength and volume necessary in a large hall, but in parlor singing his performances were
exquisitely effective.
In his early professional life Mr. Dempster was greatly aided and encouraged by Mrs.
Isabella Browning, a pianist of note, who at that time was at the head of musical affairs in
Aberdeen. In his later years the income from his published music made him independent.
He died in London, March 7, 1871, surrounded by friends to whom he had long endeared
himself by his warm-hearted and genial disposition, no less than by his strict morality.
THE RAINY DAY.
621
Andante.
By special permission of Messrs. OLIVER Drrsos & Co.
^3J
r I— ri [— rl -j i rl
... j j ~TJ j j s» j 3 a «
1 '""^l
bj^^
1. The
2. Mv
3. Be
» 0 &> 0_ 0(3 +* * 0 0 r f — p —
i 1 — — - — p 1 r p y—
day is cold, and dark, and drear - y; It rains, and the
life is cold, and dark, and drear - y; It rains, and the
still, sad heart! and cease re - pin - ing; Be - bind the
— .,...-— — i i i i i | i — —]
J
N^ L ^h-l-- L- f-rf-J 1- 1— J J 1 i
-0- -0~ ~0~ 0m "0* 0 ' 0
i t-C t=E I , J—
rJ I'
nt/i. — 3 — w —
-— — ^— -j • — 3 — — — ^— -• -^ *—
-¥ — 5— 1~
X—^r) ;/!_
1 »s 0 EZT3I 1 "^ • 1 *•
0 S V
L_^ L_^ 1__^ J ,
JH^ 5
— » — ^ — — i* — i ,^3 i* — P — p — — p •*
_p: p — i^—j
_| J W--J
wind
wind
clouds
T '
is nev - er wea - ry; The vine still clings to the
is nev - er wea - ry; My thoughts still cling to the
the sun is shin - ing; Thy fate is the com - mon
-j J , ±0 J g -± -»• -0- -"• V -000 •-0- •*•
"•" "•* "•* ' ^ 0
— al J — ^ — J —*> — I^S~1II*~Z r^~~-
=S=ST^=srJ
0-000 0" +
- 9 0 * i LJ -6 ^—,
f° 00-
mould
mould
fate
- 'ring wall, But at ev' - ry gust the
- 'ring past, But the hopes of youth
of all, In - to each life some
dead leaves
thick in the
rain must
!J **
r-—\ 1 • 1
MM
£jfr — -^ \ -£--- \ ^ • \ * ' -.
Efe^sT"
-^l^^ep^ _j 1_|- i ^^^=|!^=^
fall,
fall,'
fc
id^^tz -&— _,^~p~ -JL-—-1—-- ^j^-+-J— f—. *
„_ ^ Hr««r - v And th<*
And the day is dark A ml the
And the days are dark arear y,.- ^^
Some days must be dark
^p
— F5- ^=*==^^^^
=*= SZZ =E^= -^^
— —l—gj- .
622
OUR FAMILIAR f>'OAr&S.
3
32:
day is dark
days are dark
days must be dark
and drear- y.
and drear- y,
and drear- y.
And the day is
And the days are
Some davs must be
dark and
dark and
dark and
drear - y.
drear - y.
drear -
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary ;
It rains, and the wind is never weary ;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary :
It rains, and the wind is never weary .
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
MY MOTHER'S BIBLE.
THE words of "My Mother's Bible," were written by GEORGE P. MORRIS. An English
writer says of him : " You can hardly know the place General Morris has made himself
among all classes here. His many songs and ballads are household words in every home
in England. After all, what are all the throat-warblings in this world to one such heart-song
as 'My Mother's Bible!'"
N. P. Willis, General Morris's life-long friend, wrote of him : " My dear sir : To ask me
for my idea of Mr. Morris, is like asking the left hand's opinion of the dexterity of the right.
I have lived so long with the 'Brigadier' — known him so intimately — worked so con-
stantly at the same rope, and thought so little of ever separating from him (except by
precedence of ferriage over the Styx), that it is hard to shove him from me to the perspec-
tive distance — hard to shut my own partial eyes and look at him through other people's.
I will try, however, and as it is done with but one foot off the treadmill of my ceaseless
vocation, you will excuse both abruptness and brevity.
" Morris is the best known poet of the country, — by acclamation, not by criticism. He
is just what poets would be if they sang like birds, without criticism ; and it is a peculiarity
of his fame that it seems as regardless of criticism as a bird in the air. Nothing can stop a
song of his. It is very easy to say that they are very easy to do. They have a momentum
somehow, that is difficult for others to give, and that speeds them to the far goal of popu-
larity— the best proof consisting in the fact that he can at any moment get fifty dollars for
a song unread, when the whole remainder of the American Parnassus could not sell one to
the same buyer for a shilling. It may or may not be one secret of his popularity, but it
is a truth that Morris's heart is at the level of most other people's and his poetry flows out
by that door. He stands breast-high in the common stream of sympathy, and the fine oil
of his poetic feelings goes from him upon an element it is its nature to float upon, and
which carries it safe to other bosoms with little need of high-flying or deep diving. His
sentiments are simple, honest, truthful, and familiar ; his language is pure and eminently
MY MOTHERS BIBLE.
623
musical, and he is prodigally full of the poetry of every-day feeling. These are days when
poets try experiments ; and while others succeed in taking the world's breath away with
flights and plunges, Morris uses his feet to walk quietly with nature. Ninety-nine people
in a hundred, taken as they come in the census, would find more to admire in Morris's
songs than in the writings of any other American poet; and that is a parish in the poetical
Episcopate well worthy a wise man's nurture and prizing.
"As to the man — Morris, my friend— I can hardly venture to 'burn incense on his
moustache/ as the French say— write his praises under his very nose— but as far off as
Philadelphia, you may pay the proper tribute to his loyal nature and manly excellences.
His personal qualities have made him universally popular, but this overflow upon the
world does not impoverish him for his friends. I have outlined a true poet and a fine fel-
low, fill up the picture to your liking."
The music of this song was composed by HENRY EUSSELL.
ma - ny gen - er - a - tionspast, Here is our fam - 'ly tree: My
speak of what these pa - ges said, In tones my heart would thrill! Though
-dt-±—
mo - ther's bauds this
they are with the
Bi - ble clasp'd; She, dy
si - lent dead, Here are
ing, gave it me.
they liv - ing still.
T
My father read this holy book
To brothers, sisters dear ;
How calm was my poor mother's look,
Who leaned God's word to hear.
Her angel face — I see it yet!
What thronging memories come !
Again that little group is met
Within the halls of home.
Thou truest friend man ever knew,
Thy constancy I've tried;
Where all were false, I found thee true,
My counsellor and guide.
The mines of earth no treasure give
That could this volume buy ;
In teaching me the way to live,
It taught me how to die.
624
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
THE INQUIRY
THE words of the following beautiful but dreadfully be-parodied song were written by
CHABLES MACKAY, and the music was composed by CIPRIANO GORRIN. Gorrin was of
Spanish descent, was a fine musician, and for some years was a teacher of music in the
city of New York.
1. Tell me, ye wing- ed winds That round my pathway roar,.
J * \ ' i
¥3^3
0> — .£-
5
W 1 _I
Do ye not know some spot Where mor - tals weep no more? Some
3£ — i i i i — i — i — d — i — i— « y— = — d— i — =-+•
S^ E£E^
lone and pleas - ant, pleas - ant dell, Some val • ley in the west,
m
Where
SE
free from toil and pain,
Where free from toil and pain,
^
000
Where
G25
free from toil and
The wea - ry soul may rest?
J J
»i "i
^tt£
2. Tell mf , thou mighty deep, \\Hiose billows round me play.
1 3
Know'st thou some fa-vor'd spot,.... Some is - land far a- way,
Where
, £- •
wea - ry, wea - ry man may find The bliss, the bliss for which he sighs, Where
€26
OUK FAMILIAR SONGS.
m
sor - row nev - er lives,
Where sor - row nev - er fives,
Where
^^^
-
r • h
a±
sor- row nev-er, nev-er lives, And friend - ship nev - er, nev- er dies?
3
3^
s i i
3. And thou, se - ren - est moon.
That
ho -
Dost
4-*
i
TT V
33
• J'f rl
^
look up - on the earth,.... A - sleep in night's em - brace,
Tell
^JVU-Eg
-i 1 * **
^4 ^ J
THE INQ UIEY.
627
me, tell me in all thy round, Hast thou not seen some spot, some spot Where
- T
mis - er - a - ble man,
Where mis - er • a - ble man,
Where
Might find a hap - pier lot?
mis - er - a - ble man
Dr. Mackay's poem, as sometimes happens, has suffered loss of sense in being set to
music. By discarding the refrain, the composer obscures the main point,
stanza is: —
Tell me, my secret soul,
O tell me, Hope and Faith,
Is there no resting-place
From sorrow, sin and death ?
Is there no happy spot
Where mortals may be blest —
Where grief may find a balm,
And weariness a rest ?
Faith Hope, and Trvth — best boons to mortals given -
Waved their bright wings, and answered, « Yes, in heaven."
628
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
THE BETTER LAND.
THE words of this song were written by MRS. HEMANS; the music was composed by her
sister, MRS. ARKWRIGHT.
iPI
1. I hear thee speak of the bet - ter land, Thou call'st its children a
2. Is it where the feath - er - y palm-trees rise, And the date grows ripe un- «1< r
in
^
^
-p-ft—
•>'* •> f •:
^
g=f
v i»*-
hap - py band; Moth-er, oh! where is that ra - diant shore?
sun - ny skies? Or midst the green is- lands of glit - t'ring seas; Where
Is it
Shall we not seek it and weep no more? Is it where the flow'r of the
fra - grant for - ests per - fume the breeze, And strange, bright birds on their
or - ange blows, And the fire
star - ry wings, Wear the rich
flies dance in the myr - tie boughs?
hues of all glo - rious things?
THE BETTER LAND.
629
there, NoUhcre, my chiw „„, ^ ^ ^ ^ ' ^^
>$~ — — r^ , P5 -£V
I hear tliee speak of the better land,
Thou caU'st its children a happy band;
Mother, «ih ! where is that radiant shore?
Shall we not seek it and weep no more ?
Is it wh<5re the flower of the orange blows,
And th« fire-flie's dance in the myrtle boughs ?
Not th*»re ! not there ! my child.
Is it where the feathery palm trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies,
Or iridst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange bright birds on their starry wings
Wear the rich hues of all glorious things ?
Not there ! not there ! my child.
Is it far away in some region old,
Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold,
And the burning rays of the ruby shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine ?
And the pearl glows forth from the coral strand,
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land ?
Not there ! not there ! my child.
Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy,
Ear hath not heard its sweet songs of joy;
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair,
Sorrow and death may not enter there,
Time may not breathe on its fadeless bloom;
For beyond the clouds and beyond the tomb,
It is there ! it is there ! my child.
THERE'S NOTHING TRUE BUT HEAVEN.
THIS most familiar of all semi-religious songs is one of TOM MOORE'S " Sacred Melo-
dies."! should have been glad to include in this collection much fine and well-known
sacre*d music ; but it was impossible to enter that great field of song, from which enough
for a separate volume would have to be taken.
1. This world is all a
2. And false the light on
3. Poor wan-d'rers of a
fleet - ing show, For man's il - lu - sioii
glo - ry's plumo, As fad- ing hues of
storm- y day I From wave to wave we're
giv'n;
ev'n;
driv'n;
S
tt -
3^^
world is all a
false the light on
wan-d'rers of a
fleet - ing show, For man's
glo - ry a plume, As fad -
storm - y day! From wave
il - lu - sion giv'n..
ing hues of ev'n;-.
to wave we're driv'n;.
630
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
The
And
And
smiles of joy,
love and hope,
fan - cy's flash,
the tears of woe,
and beau - ty's bloom,
and rea- soil's ray,
De-
Are
Serve
ceit - ful shine,
bios - soms gather'd
but to light
de -
for
the
ceit
the
trou
ful flow,
tomb,—
bled way,
There'8 noth- ing true but
There's noth- ing bright but
There's noth- ing calm but
heav'n, There's noth - ing true...
heav'n, There's noth -ing bright,
heav'n, There's noth-iug calm...
but heav'n
but heav'n
but heav'n
but heav'n, There's noth - ing
but heav'n, There's noth - ing
but heav'n, There's noth - ing
This world is all a fleeting show,
For man's illusion given ;
The smiles of joy, the tears of woe,
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow,
There's nothing true but heaven.
And false the light on glory's plume,
As fading hues of ev'n ;
And love, and hope, and beauty's bloom,
Are blossoms gathered for the tomb —
There's nothing bright but heaven.
Poor wanderers of a stormy day !
From wave to wave we're driven ;
And fancy's flash and reason's ray
Serve but to light the troubled way;
There's nothing calm but heaven.
THE PAUPER'S DRIVE.
THOMAS NOEL, author of the words of this quaint song, was an Englishman. In 1841
he published a volume of "Rhymes and Roundelays." He lived in a romantic home on the
Thames, and among his poems is a pretty song about that river. The idea of " The Pau-
per's Drive" was suggested to him by seeing a funeral where the body was borne upon a
cart driven at full speed.
'The music of the song is the composition of J. J. HTJTCHINSON.
THE PAUPElt'S DWVE.
631
X*#fi JN IS-' N >S N— ! »
*—%-— N IS fc 1 N—
^ V X N V \ _>_
1. There's a grim one-horse hearse in a jol - ly round trot ; To the church-yard a pau-plr
Oh, where are the mourn- ers? a - las ! there are none : He has left not a gap in the
' ' l ^m
g ' i i i r g g
= ..f 00000—
— *-v — V — v — v — v — v— J
— N N N 1 »S
b £ \\
go- ing, I wot: The road it is rough, and the hearse has no springs, And
world, now he's gone; Not a tear in the eye Of child, wo- man, or man, To the
»3f— f *-.. * g ' *~-f f f f 0-9- -9 9 0 0 m-f-
^ fl i P P P v*=£- -
V 5 V 1 9 ?-'-
g g g r gf^
IE P C i g N
^4/7 /^^ voices in unison.
~*~ T*~ "<•" ~!*~
(/ *T JJ.
^ k
/T if K K K * K
^ P ^ ",
1 1 «^
_i J J _i
^ M M fl 41 MM
• * * f
III
hark to the dirge which the
,grave with his car - cass as
rrs — f — f — f — f f — f~
> * * »
sad driv - er sings : )
fast as you can. j
r — 0 P 0 0
" Rat - tie his bones
Accomp.
^ 0 0 1
~~9 i £ • =T~
— «—
V^lx ||f 1 1 1
P F F —
1 1 r n .
r i r D v
V V V \ P P
x^
A >, 'I*- T»- I*" -1*- I*" I*"
r-Q-ffjj p p F P—
*=£=$ l> . r r r r
jjrr_4r[|ffff -U
^y^* |* ' * i* P |3
o - ver the stones: He's
on - ly a pau - per whom no - bo - .dy owns !
rr—r—r—r- r r \r r t—t—^
y« harmony.
f\ \ \ 1 K S .,_SL h.
— K— x ^ *-£— II
Rat -tie his bones o - ver the stones : He's on - ly a pau-per whom no - bo - dy owns I"
m * * • .-- 1 f • • 0 i 0 0 * 0 0 ^ | ,* f f 1? ||
frFi— izsi" L L — L 2 ^"t -t — » — • — • —
^^ c D D r — \-*—*—*
z= — =* — v — f — p-
It. ' ^ M ""
There's a grim one-horse hearse in a jolly round
trot,
To the churchyard a pauper is going, I wot
The road it is rough, and the hearse has no
springs,
And hark to the dirge which the sad driver sings :
41 Rattle his bones over the stones :
He's only a pauper whom nobody owns ! "
Oh, where are the mourners ? alas I there are
none :
He has left not a gap in the world, now he's gone ;
Not a tear in the eye of child, woman, or man,
To the grave with his carcass as fast as you
can.
" Rattle his bones over the stones ;
He's only a pauper whom nobody owns! "
r>32
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
What a jolting, and creaking, and plashing, and
din ;
The whip how it cracks ! and the wheels how
they spin !
How the dirt, right and left, o'er the hedges is
hurled !
The pauper at length makes a noise in the world !
" Rattle his bones over the stones :
He's only a pauper whom nobody owns ! "
Poor pauper defunct! he has made some
approach
To gentility, now that he's stretched in a
coach !
He's taking a drive in his carriage at last,
But it will not be long, if he goes on so fast.
" Rattle his bones over the stones ;
He's only a pauper whom nobody owns.
But a truce to this strain ; for my soul it is sad
To think that a heart, in humanity clad,
Should make, like the brute, such a desolate end,
And depart from the light, without leaving a
friend !
" Bear soft his bones over the stones ;
Though a pauper, he's one whom his Maker
yet owns ! "
You bumpkins ! who stare at your brother con-
veyed —
Behold what respect to a cloddy is paid !
And be joyful to think, when by death you're laid
low,
You've a chance to the grave like a gemman
to go !
" Rattle his bones over the stones ;
He's only a pauper whom nobody owns ! "
THE OLD SEXTON.
PARK BENJAMIN, author of the words of " The Old Sexton," was bora in Demerani,
British Guiana, August 14, 1809. His parents had removed there from New England, and,
on account of illness in his infancy, which resulted in serious lameness, Park was sent to
his father's home in Connecticut for medical treatment. He studied at Trinity and Harvard
Colleges, and began to practice law in Boston. He soon left the profession, devoted him-
self to literary pursuits, and became founder, editor, or contributor of several American
magazines. His lyrics attained wide popularity, but have never been collected ; some of
them, it is said, have not even been in print, but have descended from school-boy to
school-boy as declamations. Mr. Benjamin died in New York city, September 12, 1864.
"The Old Sexton" was written expressly for HENRY RUSSELL, who composed the music.
I
m
.
a grave
are with
Nigh
Ma -
to
ny
that was
me, but
new
still
- ly made, Leaned a
I'm a-lone, I'm
sex
king
- ton old, on bis
of the dead— and I
*- •*•
Staccato.
Colla voce.
1
^
m
w
earth - worn spade, His work was done, and he paused to wait
make my throne On a monu-ment slab of mar - ble cold,
The
And my
THE OLD SEXTON.
633
fun' - ral train through the o - pen sate •
seep - tre of rule is the spade I hold;
rel - ic of by - gone
Come they from cottage, or
.
days was he, And his locks were white as the foam - v sea; And
come they from hall, Man - kind are my sub - jects, all, all, all! Let them
IttpZ , • • • v ^-
N K
— 1 1*1^'!* —
I •* ._
I r
1 «•!
gf* J J Jj J' J'
these words came from his
loit - er in pleas - ure, or
-A— J? 1
lips so thin: "I
toil - ful - ly spin — " I
1
| ' « ••*
-?— ^ — **— -h-
^ u B-l
B^"
gath - er them in,
gath - er them in, I
-\ 1 — i-::l
0 H-jj
=d
» — J
1
LJ J 4
-*--*- T
1 — 1
(•
1=^=1
P T
N=^
1
t3=M 1 L
C j 1
Q I
T! '
gath - er them in, gath - er,
634
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
gath - er,
Sva
ga-ther them in.".
^
-j—,, j i j— g
S SjUL^ '8 PI
•5- JTW*^ •*- -0-
^
s
2. "I Rath - er them in! for man and boy,....
4. " I gath - er them in, and their & - nal rest Is
Year aft -er year of
here, down here, in the
^
grief and joy, Fve build- ed the houses that lie a - round, In
earth's dark breast !" And the sex - ton ceased — for the f u - neral train Wound
f
A
f
THE OLD SEXTON.
635
-yry~~
<£K b b
*=. ^
ps^=i
i 55 a »~
r— ^
« n
t)
ev - 'ry nook of this
mute - ly o'er that
~&L* 1 1 1 1 1
jfiL-j— f. -i — — —
bu - rial ground ;
sol - emn plain; And I
f™-! i —^
M
s
)th-er and daugh - ter,—
aid to my heart — when
(CD v
=j — i
-i- -*
— d 1
e^
H
=S
-TT-
— 1 4
f
-^-j
*- i
! i
; J J i
\ L
iH
: ;
«
; — =
^Ir^
2
5
i
i — ^J
i
fa-ther and son,
time is told,
Come to my sol - i-tude,
A might - ier voice than that
one by one, — But
sex - ton's old Will
i
J^
j ^. ^
m
come they stran - gers, or come they kin
sound o'er the last trnmp's dread - ful din
" I gath - er them in, I
" I gath - er them in, I
~S:
•v
gath - er them in,
gath - er,
8va
gath- er,
Z~
fe
P
636
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
Nigh to a grave that was newly made,
Leaned a sexton old on his earth-worn spade,
His work was done, and he paused to wait
The funeral train at the open gate.
A relic of bygone days was he,
And his locks were white as the foamy sea;
And these words came from his lips so thin :
" I gather them in : I gather them in.
" I gather them in ! for man and boy,
Year after year of grief and joy';
I've builded the houses that lie around,
In every nook of this burial ground ;
Mother and daughter, father and son,
Come to my solitude, one by one, —
But come they strangers or come they kin —
I gather them in, I gather them in.
" Many are with me, but still I'm alone,
I'm king of the dead — and I make my throne
On a monument slab of marble cold ;
And my sceptre of rule is the spade I hold ;
Come they from cottage or come they from hall^
Mankind are my subjects, all, all, all!
Let them loiter in pleasure or toilfully spin —
I gather them in, I gather them in.
" I gather them in, and their final rest
Is here, down .here, in the earth's dark breast!*
And the sexton ceased, for the funeral train
Wound mutely o'er that solemn plain !
And I said to my heart, when time is told,
A mightier voice than that sexton's old
Will sound o'er the last trump's dreadful din —
" I gather them in, I gather them in."
THE GERMAN WATCHMAN'S SONG.
IT is the custom of some of the watchmen in Germany to sing songs during the night,
a stanza of a national, amusing, or devotional song, for a kind of " All's well," as they an-
nounce each hour. The following was one of the especial favorites.
The music was composed by I. HEFFERNAN.
THE GERMAN WATCHMAN'S SONG-
637
are the ho - ly com- mandments given, To man be - low, from God in heav'n
en A,- pos-tles of ho - ly mind, Taught the gos - pel to mankind
Hu - man watch from harm can't ward us : God will watch, and God will guard us ;
He, through his E - ter - nal might,
I/ *
Grant us all a bless - ed night.
5*j— r
\r
Hark ! ye neighbors, and hear me tell —
Twelve resounds from the belfry bell I
Twelve Disciples to Jesus came,
Who suffered rebuke for their Saviour's name.
Human watch, etc.
Hark! ye neighbors, and hear me tell —
One has pealed on the belfry bell !
One God above, one Lord indeed,
Who bears us up in hour of need.
Human watch, etc.
Hark! ye neighbors, and hear me tell —
Two now rings from the belfry bell !
Two paths before mankind are free,
Neighbor, Oh, choose the best for thee !
Human watch, etc.
Hark ! ye neighbors, and hear me tell —
Three now sounds on the belfry bell !
Threefold reigns the heavenly Host,
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost !
Human watch, etc.
ALL'S WELL.
THE following song wa* written by THOMAS DIBDIN, and was sung in "The English
Fleet," an opera written by S. J. Arnold. The music is by JOHN BRAHAM, the greal
lish tenor. Braham was of Hebrew parentage, and on one occasion when he was
in- in his most glorious manner a passage from -Israel in Egypt,-
Pharaoh went with his chariots and with his horsemen into the sea, and the Lord brought
638
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
again the waters upon them, but the children of Israel went on dry land in the midst of
the sea," Tom Cooke pulled his coat-tail gently, and whispered, " It's lucky for you that
they did, or you would not have been singing here." Braham was a wag himself, as well
as a fine mimic. Catalini was in the height of her glory at the time I write of, and the great
singer off the stage would walk about the room saying : " You see dis brooch ? De Em-
peror of Austria gave me dis. You see dese earrings ? De Emperor of Russia gave me
dese. You see dis ring ? De Emperor Napoleon gave me dis," etc. Mr. Braham would
quietly circle round the room saying in her very tone, "You see dis umbrella? De Em-
peror of China gave me dis. You see dese teeth ? De King of Tuscany gave me dese."
First voice. Adagio
ZL~ 25 re
J m J 1 J •
• • • Ji
KB — 4 — *--J » J-
JC ' »-J | • •" -J
f f L —
J '
1. De- sert - ed by
Second voice.
n f
the wan - ing moon, When skies
1 r | ^ — i
pro -claim night's
• • 1
1 1 ^
XT_ ^ "1
-X =1 fc-=fc
J 1 J —
^o — 4
» P *—
— • 0— -
2. Or, sail - ing on
V
the mid - night deep, While wea
- ry mess - mates
((>)$? — Q M P si P~~
~i~ T * — R — ^r"
^ F— — ^ —
•^ _l f- — 1_| — p_p — a — u_
»i 1 ^
_» ^ M 1 p \*
»vNvNivNv ^
j\ JA
fm — — P *t — w~~=
h^ *> . / J . ^ J.^^3JS
-*— : J* *— : J*—
cheer - less noon,
fi *t i ^^
On tow - er, fort, or tent - ed ground,The sen - try walks his
U S J 1 k
fs ic N ic 1
/f J • 03
&~ P ft'P" fr i^ ^j!5&
ff i B
g^. _ JE ^ — J_s
-£- J . /^ J . — £- J . f * H JS
0 . ^ J . ^
sound - ly sleep,
rhe care- ful watch pa- trols the deck, The care- ful watch pa-
E2 ^ =f P_a
n +» . - f \
'• LJ LJ _ J
^
•y# m . fc l^
i* • « « _
N * m * B \
/L * • f P 5 i
1 D l ^ "* 1
KB P — g L» "U
* — $ -4 — * ~ n
lone-ly round, The sen
- try walks his lone - ly round.
The sen - try
{) S is, fc j
''•^
_ i
— x i a — N — j N — s x-
^ff) — ^~ — *
~ aH^- — P — ft — |— *-
j
trols the deck, To guard
• ^ -/. y -J-
the ship from foes or wreck,
To guard the
/S("\«tt f
. ^ M M ^ 1 [_^_
(K?* j ^ *1
x i q * — * — * J x
0 if ~~"~ N
AH*grv.
I S
-— P- — f- P P —
XW — ' — 0 — 1 F p * ^ —
"^~ ^i" -r — r — r — r — p — p — * — p~
--b — h — b — b —
1 , 1 ^^^^^ 1
L' U v v L j j L
walks his lone - ly ro
v v V V
uud. And should some foot-step hap - ly stray, Whe
"1 *•* S N IS IS h. h. it.
re cau-tion marks the
ship from foes or wi
i
J- ^- <T J ; ;- J j J" ^
-eck ; And, while his thoughts oft homeward veer, So
-T~u" C H
me friendly voice sa-
ll! P
1 ]
'(& — &—^ — fv-— J 1
^_o 1__J_
— ^~
J J
M ' J
1 J
5
ALL'S WKLL.
639.
guard- ed way ,Where caution marks the guard-ed way, the guard - ed way, who goes there?
t
*1
£
£=£
Jutes his ear— Some friendly voice sa - lutes hia ear, sa - lutes his ear— what cheer?
Adagio.
7k — •
— vi =] f*~
—g ^ —
— 5
~T 5~
~^-
sp =3
Stran - ger, quick- ly
n tt n.
tell— A i
r *
Friend! The
word? Good
-4 E:
night!
1
IjT
~y « K S
PI
k
i 5 ' ^^™ 1
XL F m 1 _P N
E
\»
s» -I J
n
*
• ' }
*P F f — — — *^
4*H
•^ ' W
J
E
w * ' &
Broth- er, quick- ly tell — A- bove — be - low— Good night!
All's
fij^ •
•
•
1"
•
'
DOWN IN THE SUNLESS RETREATS.
THIS is one of MOORE'S " Sacred Melodies." The music to which it is here set is the
composition of OUTER SHAW, bora in 1778, He was a teacher of music, and followed that
profession in Providence, E. I, where he died, December 31, 1848. His sacred composi-
tions include "Mary's Tears," "Nothing true but Heaven," "Arrayed in Clouds/ and
« Home of my Soul " A friend writes of him : « He was a man of placid disposit
trusive manners and truly Christian character, and was warmly devoted to his divine art.'
640
OUB FAMILIAR SONGS.
sea;
Sweet
The
^
flow - ers are spring
nee - die points faith
ing, no mor - tal can see;
ful - ly o'er the dim-... sea;
Espressivo.
j>-> i -»,
b^y ~!N
-^—5 ^ — p — uJ — J — pssk,-—
. __J S— t — *—
So,
So,
deep in my
dark as I
soul the still pray'r of de - vo - tion, Un -
roam, in this win - try world shroud - ed, The
-ft* *— r* J — Ed 1 v —
$ pi
t*_^j -JZJ
^^{ r f ^==
1 j- •! Z
W 3r-
•* ^=?=^
^X-i-?^*-.
-*-
•g<- — — * 1
± / 7 1
heard by the world, ris - es
hope of my spir - it turns
si - lent
tremb - ling
to
to
Thee;
Thee :
=F3
DO WN IN THE SUNLESS RETREATS,
ad lib.
641
My
My
si -lent to Thee; Pure, warm, si - lent to
trembling to Thee; True, fond, trembling to
Expressive.
o ,-
-H 1-
mf
Thee I So, deep in my soul the still pray'r of de - vo - tion, Un -
Thee ! So, dark as I roam, in this win - try world shroud - ed, The
heard
hope
by
of
the world, ris - es
my spir - it turns
si - lent to
tremb - ling to
Thee;
Thee:
heard
hope
- , 8i - lent to Thee!
by the world; ris
of my spir - it turns trembling
Un
The
OUR FAMILIAR SONGti.
WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET AGAIN?
THIS most familiar song has been long, though vaguely, associated with the early days
of two of America's oldest colleges, Dartmouth and Williams. I quote below the letter
which an eminent educator in Massachusetts wrote to The Dartmouth, a periodical pub-
lished by the students of that college. " The legend of the Old Pine, on the hill back of
the college, in Hanover, was told me when I was a child, more than fifty years ago ; and
yet a graduate of Dartmouth recently said he had never heard it ! The story is, that three
Indians, on the day they left Dartmouth, met in a bower, of which the youthful pine, now
a venerable tree, was one of the trees, and sang the song, ' When shall we three meet
again?' The words and music were composed by one of their number. My mother told
me the story, and from her lips I learned both the words and the music, a very plaintive
minor strain. The only commencement I ever attended at Dartmouth, was in 1853, when
I heard Choate's eulogy of Webster. On the evening of that day I was walking on the hill,
for the sake of the prospect, and the pine tree was pointed out to me, which was said to
be older than the college. While we were standing there, a company of four or five rather
young men, evidently alumni, sang the very song, in the very strain, which I had learned
•when a child, living in Connecticut."
The late President Smith of Dartmouth, said in a letter to me :" I do not believe,
with Artemus Ward, that 'Indians is pizen wherever you meet 'em/ — but that any Indian
undergraduate, or Indian just graduate, ever wrote so beautiful a lyric as that you enquire
about, I am slow to think."
On the other hand, a New Hampshire poet gives me the following account of his
memory and opinion : "I think there must be something in the legend, because I distinctly
remember that, in 1839, one Pierce, an Indian (Cherokee) of the class of 1840, came to rny
home [Newport, N. H.] with a cousin of mine who was in the same class, to spend a few
days of his vacation, and was at my mother's house, and I remember that he sang this
same song, and that my younger sister learned both the words and the music, from whom
I learned them. Some of the Indian graduates at Dartmouth were smart fellows — I think
fully equal to the writing of this song. It is not perfect in its construction, by any means;
for instance, the third stanza, which is somewhat incoherent, although a very sweet, pretty
thing. The first line of the same stanza is strong evidence of Indian origin, as Indians'
hair is always a 'burnished' black, and here were three black-haired fellows."
From still another quarter comes the legend that the song emanated from Williams
College, and that it was sung by three young men, just graduating there, who had met in a
meadow, in the shade of a great haystack, to consecrate themselves to the work of foreign
missions among the earliest that America had known. One of their number was said to have
composed the song entire, and the especial proof lay in the second stanza :
Though in distant lands we sigh,
Parched beneath a hostile sky ;
Though the deep between us rolls,—
Friendship shall unite our souls,
Still, in Fancy's rich domain,
Oft shall we three meet again.
Three standard English collections, published within the past sixty years, have con-
tained the song without the stanza to which tradition points in proof of Indian origin. No
authorship of the words is given, but the air is spoken of in one place as the work of
Samuel Webbe, in another as the work of Dr. William Horsley. SAMUEL WEBBE, was an
English composer, born in London in 1740. His father, who was wealthy, died suddenly
When about to assume a government office in Minorca, and the property was taken from
WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET AGAIN f
t>45
his widow and infant son. Mrs. Webbe was rendered so destitute that she was obliged to
deny her son education, and when he was but eleven years old to apprentice him to a
cabinet-maker. This business he hated, and though he knew not a note of written music
his fondness for the art led him to undertake to copy it. He copied from five in the morn!
ing tifl midnight. He also studied French, Hebrew, German, and Latin, and finally em-
ployed an Italian music-master, after which he attempted composition. His music was
received warmly, and he became a favorite teacher. He made numberless songs, anthems
masses, etc., including the music of "When shall we three meet again?" which is spoken
of as his " celebrated glee."
DR. HORSLEY was a well-known English composer, born thirty years later than Webbe
whose pupil he was. He either made a new composition for the words of this song or
re-arrranged his teacher's air. The former supposition is more probable, as two different
airs are given.
Where the song appears in these English collections there is no definite information as
to the authorship of the words j but one of the three attributes them to " a lady." Is it not
probable that the glee was written before the words which accompanied it? The words
seem like those of some one leaving home for a foreign land, expecting years of absence.
May it not be that they were written by the wite of an English missionary who was about
to accompany her husband to his distant work? At any rate, the song was no doubt writ-
ten in England and brought to this country when Dartmouth College was in its infancy.
The first Indian graduates, met in the "bower" for their farewell, might recall the song,
but would desire to have something a little more expressive of their circumstances. One
of their number would write the stanza which Indicates Indian origin, and the song might
pass as his own, without such intention on his part. In corroboration of this, is the fact
that that stanza is not contained in the English versions, and is veiy greatly inferior to the
rest in poetic merit. The song was no doubt sung again at Williamstown, and by the same
method by which a shrewd saying has been fastened in turn upon each coUege president in
the country, it would be easy to transmit the supposed authorship of this song from the
Dartmouth students who added a stanza to the Williams students who sang it on a mem-
orable occasion.
Harmonized by Edward S. Cumminge.
iA « i — :p— 1 — *-
1 — i 3 — i
nJ— J— i-=fr
rr| — K — i — i
ffpp 8 t 1 — * — rj-
1. When shall we three
2. Tho' in dis - tant
meet a - gain? When shall we three
lands we sigh, Parch'd be - neath the
meet a - gain?
burn - ing sky;
rig): fi — 0 0 j» f—
r .•
—\ P (V-
— y m J
— f P —
n 1 •
__j — v — ji —
0 —
L_J 1 — «L — 1
jg^==jf=j=-
!
1 p»
P— £ T-
r* — f — r — 1
Oft shall glow - in;
Tho' the deep be
?
hope ei
neath us
F=l=l
=t
: - pir
rol
*=i
e,
8,
i — r
*
Oft shall wear - ied
Friendship shall u -
r; r -r-
love re - tire,
nite our souls;
_f Jl_f ^
ei — L — j^ — I — i
1
'•' t r n
a — p — i — -i
644
m
i
Ere
Oft
Oft shall death
Still in Fan -
and
cy's
sor -
rich
row reign,
do - main
we three
shall we
shall
three
meet
meet
a - gain.
a - gain.
When shall we three meet again ?
When shall we three meet again ?
Oft shall glowing hope expire,
Oft shall wearied love retire,
Oft shall death and sorrow reign,
Ere we three shall meet again.
Though in distant lands we sigh,
Parched beneath the burning sky;
Though the deep between us rolls,
Friendship shall unite our souls ;
Still in Fancy's rich domain
Oft shall we three meet again.
When around the youthful pine
Moss shall creep, and ivy twine ;
When these burnished locks are gray,
Thinned by many a toil-spent day,
May this long-loved bower remain,
Here may we three meet again.
When the dreams of life are fled,
When its wasted lamp is dead ;
When in cold oblivion's shade
Beauty, Wealth, and power are laid,
Where immortal spirits reign,
There shall we three meet again.
THE MESSENGER BIRD.
THE familiar duet which follows is still another joint production of MRS. HEMANS and
MRS. ARKWRIGHT, — the former being the author of the words, and the latter of the music.
An American lady wrote an answer to the song, in 1827, which is included in some editions
of Mrs. Hemans's works.
Espressivo.
-fr- s
3C£?n:
BBEgpglH
?=S=*^=?:
1 ^ It. gl
•^^fep^
Thou art come from the spi - rit's land, thou bird ! thou art come from the spirit's
»•"•« — ~^*^~-
> — i ^^•B=-f-— i —
BEE^E
:J
d::
*
3S
land,
Thro' the dark pine grove let thy voice be heard, And
THE MESSENGER BLED.
645
6*.
the shadowy band, tell of the shadowy band.
^
-I
t=^t
We know
*.
±=g=S=f=
that the bow'rs are green and fair, In the
f t_ _f_
PP
=£
-I- m 1-
I ^ \ **
3J J, ±r=£=*
P
light of that summer shore,
r— ^ — f f f- T-^-
— — iy-^ y • w w w ^ • ~_m
And we know that the friends we have
-0 — , — 0 — i — 0.
espress.
E*
^^
N ^
lost are there, They are there, they are there, And they weep no more.
f-L_.fi£- _— *
646
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
Molto espress.
V L", j 1 1 1 — 3 1 1
— \ —
1 p K \ P— S —
But tell us, but tell Ui
r\ I ^^ ^
>,
s
Tell us, thou bird of the
^ 1_ ^
Lb, i | i 4 i | J -
1 J
p
1 i '
U-^_j_i j , r=l
hj J
* ,
^
and they
sol- emn strain, Can those who have lov'd for -get?
'•&
We call
/p»
| ^ N_H,-r^ H K H, ^ Uj
%/ -— -
an - swer not a - gain, We
/TN ^
call, and they an- swer not a - gain; Oh!
•^:-fr — = ^_ tj •*—
^^
say
do they love us yet, do they love us yet, do they love us yet?
4
THE MESSENGER BIRD.
647
*, ~: fa* *
We call them far thro' the si - lent night,
And they speak not from cave nor
We know,thou bird ! that their land is bright, But say, Oh I say do they
m
love there still,
* •* *
do they love there still, do they love there still?
Thou art come from the spirits' land, thou bird !
Thou art come from the spirits' land :
Through the dark pine grove let thy voice be heard,
And tell of the shadowy band !
We know that the bowers are green and fair
In the light of that summer shore, [there,
And w i know that the friends we have lost are
They are there — and they weep no more!
[thirst
And we know they have quenched their fever's
From the fountain of youth ere now ;
For there must the stream in its freshness burst
Which none may find below !
And we know that they will not be lured to earth
From the land of deathless flowers,
By the feast, or the dance, or the song of mirth,
Though their hearts were once with ours.
Though they sat with us by the night-fire's blaze.
And bent with us the bow,
And heard the tales of our fathers' days,
Which are told to others now !
But tell us, thou bird of the solemn strain !
Can those who have loved forget ?
We call — and they answer not again —
Do they love — do they love us yet?
Doth the warrior think of his brother there,
And the father of his child ?
And the chief of those that were wont to share
His wandering through the wild?
We call them far through the silent night,
And they speak not from cave or hill ;
We know, thou bird ! that their land is bright,
But say, do they love there still ?
643
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS-
THE LAND O' THE LEAL.
THIS dearly-loved song was made by BARONESS NAIRNE. It was written for an early
friend of hers, Mrs. Archibald Campbell Colquhoun, a beautiful woman, and an old love of
Walter Scott's. It was called forth by the death of Mrs. Colquhoun's only child, and was
originally longer. Two stanzas were gradually dropped, and, in later years, when Lady
Nairne's whole life became an expression of her religious emotions, she added the stanza :
" Sae dear that joy was bought, John,
Sae free the battle fought, John,
That sinfu' man e'er brought
To the Land o' the Leal."
When Lady Nairne was growing old, a friend urged her to give her some particulars of
her composition. Of this one she wrote : " The ' Land of the Leal' is a happy rest for the
mind in this dark pilgrimage. ... Oh yes ! I was young then.
I was present when it was asserted that Burns composed it on his death-bed, and that he
had it Jean instead of < John' ; but the parties could not decide why it never appeared in
his works, as his last song should have done. I never answered."
The authorship of her poems was often discussed in her presence, and although she
said once that she " had not Sir Walter's art of denying," she must have had more than
ordinary control over her countenance and speech, as well as very faithful friends to keep
her secrets; for although her songs were universal favorites, the source of many of them
was unknown even to her kindred, until the close of her life. The year before her death,
when she had reached her seventy-ninth year, Lady Nairne was in Edinburgh, the home of
her happy married life, and also of the friend for whom she wrote this song, when one even-
ing a young kinswoman, telling her unconsciously that she was about to play what she felt
sure would please her, stirred deep memories and hopes in the breast of the aged gentle-
woman with her own exquisite song about " The Land o' the Leal."
When Burns sent Thomson his song of " Soots wha hae wi' Wallace bled," asking that
it might be set to the air called " Hey, tuttie, taittie," he said that he had shown the air to
Urbani, who was highly pleased with it, and begged him to make soft verses for it. Burns
never did so; but Lady Nairne's words are sung to that very air which we associate
with one of the most stirring songs in existence, — with only the addition of an
opening note.
Adagio.
1. I'm wear - in' a • wa% John, like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John, I'm wear - in' a-
2. Our bon-nie bairn's there, John, She was both guid and fair, John ; And, oh ! we grudged her
THE LAND O' THE LEAL.
mf
649
neith-er cauld uor care, John, The
joy's a - com - in' fast, John, The
day is aye fair
joy that's aye to last
In the laud
In the land
the leal,
o' the leal.
I'm wearin' awa', John,
Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John ;
I'm wearin' awa'
To the Land o' the Leal.
There's nae sorrow there, John,
There's neither cauld nor care, John ;
The day is aye fair
In the Land o' the Leal.
Our bonnie bairn's there, John,
She was baith guid and fair, John,
And, oh ! we grudged her sair
To the Land o' the Leal.
But sorrow's sel' wears past, John,
And joy's a-comin' fast, John;
The joy that's aye to last
In the Land o' the Leal.
Sae dear's that joy was bought, John,
Sae free the battle fought, John,
That sinfu' man e'er brought
To the Land o' the Leal.
Oh! dry your glist'nin' e'e, John,
My saul langs to be free, John,
And angels beckon me
To the Land o' the Leal.
Oh ! baud ye leal and true, John,
Your day's wearin' through, John,
And I'll welcome you
To the Land o' the Leal.
Now fare-ye-weel, my ain John,
This world's cares are vain, John,
We'll meet, and we'll be fain
In the Land o' the Leal.
GOOD NIGHT, AND JOY BE WI' YE A'.
TIME out of mind this tune ha* been played at the breaking up of social parties in Scot-
land and some of her ablest song-writers have written words to be sung to it, all of them
founded upon an old farewell melody called « Armstrong's Good-Nigh^
ThemostfamiliarversionisthatofSiRALEXANDERBoswELL,Bart. He was the eldest son
of the biographer of Dr. Johnson, and was born in Scotland, October 9, 1775, and was educated
650
OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
at Oxford. When he was twenty years old his father died, leaving him a large estate. With
literary taste and leisure he spent several years in travel, and then took up his permanent
abode in his Scottish home of Auchinleck. He wrote both prose and verse, and some of
his poems were reprinted in London. Sir Alexander suggested the erection of a monument
to Burns on the banks of the Doon, and advertised that a meeting would be held to discuss
the matter. The day arrived, and the hour, — yes, and the man, just one. Sir Alexander
took the chair, and his friend became clerk. Suitable resolutions were proposed, seconded,
and recorded, and the meeting broke up in perfect harmony. The resolutions were imme-
diately printed and widely circulated, and the result was a public subscription of two
thousand pounds, and Sir Alexander laid the corner-stone of the monument. He died
from the effects of a shot received in a political duel, on the 27th of March, 1822.
" Johnny Armstrong's Good Night," the famous old air to which the parting songs are
set, was called "Fare-thou-well, Gilk-nock-hall." In " The Complaint of Scotland," the tune
is mentioned as one of the dances to which the "lycht lopeue" shepherds tripped the
green, said in the "Complaint" to be "ane celest recreation to behold, and called "Thonne
Ermistrange's dance." Gilknock-hall, in Liddesdale, was the ancient seat of the Armstrongs.
The Armstrong to whom the words of the later songs refer, was named Thomas, and was
said to have been executed in 1601, for the murder of Sir John Carmichael, of Edrom,
Warden of the Middle Marches. The words which he was said himself to have made and
sung were these:
" This night is my departing time,
The morn's the day I mun awa' ;
There's no a friend or fae of mine,
But wishes that I were awa.
" What I hae done for lack o' wit
I never, never can reca' ;
I trust ye're a'my friends as yet —
Gude night, and joy be wi' ye a' 1"
Goldsmith was so touched by this song in his youth, that nothing he heard sung >n
after years could charm him like it. In a letter to Hodson he says : "I go to the opera,
where Signer Columba pours out all the mazes of melody. I sit and and sigh for Lishoy's
fireside, and 'Johnny Armstrong's last good-night ' from Peggy Golden."
Benjamin Franklin, while travelling beyond the Alleghany Mountains, stayed for a
while with a Scottish family living in a lonely place. One evening as they sat in the front
door, the lady of the house sang " Sae happy as we a' hae been," in a way so touching that
tears came to the eyes of the philosopher, and thirty years afterward he used to speak of
the strong impression it made upon him.
Arranged by Edward S. Cummings.
Moderato,
1. Good night, and joy be wi' you a', Your harm - less mirth has cheer'd my heart ; May
2. When on yon muir our gal- lant clan Frae boast - ing foes their ban-ners tore, Who
3. The auld will speak, the young maun hear, Be can - tie, but be guid and leal ; Your
l(D i' *
-^— « — » — •
— — 4
— «
€
i —
— •* m *
— ,
i — •
* * — i *
* 4 •
\ — i
L__j
H
H
i —
-4-
r— J
— i
-»
5* — ^-^ —
j . — — •
^ '
— •
2
1 —
— 2JJ-7 J
GOOD NIGHT, AND JOY BE WI' YE A1.
651
g^g^^s ....
! ' f .L^_»-
-•— f— :— f— F— f—
— 1 — 1
Sp =j==±±+_j_ i v | rj~
life's fell blasts out o'er ye blaw, In sor -
show'd him - sel' a bet - ter man, Or fier -
ain ills aye ha'e heart to bear, A - nith -
g kr LJj
row may ye
cer waved the
er's aye ha'e
=-L=«U
nev - er part,
red clay -more?
heart to feel.
1 1
'&& 1 JT—
* 1 *
~M .3 'If — ~^
* j ~JH
* *
5 — _£ EE
es • f.
-- — *- — J — |
My spir - it lives, but strength is gone, The mount- ain fires now blaze in vain : Re-
But when in peace— then mark me there,When through the glen the wan-d'rer came, I
So, ere I set, I'll see you shine, I'll see you triumph e'er I fa'; My
3CH i i 1
XT s» ^» v»s» \» j
_____ _____ — - — —
fa * * J_ C 4 * J * ^_
._a — d e * X J J_ X
I ' & i *
!=CT r— 1 1 H
yfj'Sr \t m \t ^» m ^* s»
L— * * i 4
1 I x 1 ~ 1 J. x 1
* . y i ^
^-^S , 1— ^ r
?f-tf; — ar-^ — * f 1 — f-]* J J • 1* ^ •
- ^ ~ J " — = *—
/] cr r^ J3 — J — i — r-ti
ra g_f ' i j [=+- —*—£ F—
Q ^ — — ^ — — ^ — •*(, —
mem - her, sons, the deeds I've done, And
gave him o' our hard - y fare, I
part - ing breath shall boast you mine, Good
-tt=i^ - J J j J
in your deeds I'll live a - gain,
gave him here a wel- come hame.
night, and joy be wi' you a'.
J i j j 1 *i • II
_J L^_
-* e J ^ H
^
Good night, and joy be wi' ye a',
Your harmless mirth has cheer'd my heart;
May life's fell blasts out o'er ye blaw,
In sorrow may ye never part.
My spirit lives, but strength is gone,
The mountain fires now blaze in vain;
Remember, sons, the deeds I've done,
And in your deeds I'll live again.
662 OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
When on yon muir our gallant clan
Frae boasting foes their banners tore,
Who showed himsel' a better man.
Or fiercer waved the red claymore?
But when in peace — then mark me there,
When through the glen the wanderer came,
I gave him o' our hardy fare,
I gave him here a welcome hame.
The auld will speak, the young maun hear,
Be cantie, but be guid and leal ;
Your ain ills aye ha'e heart to bear,
Anither's aye ha'e heart to feel.
So, ere I set, I'll see you shine,
I'll see you triumph e'er I fa';
My parting breath shall boast you mine,
Good night, and joy be wi' ye a'.
Burns, in a letter written at the happiest period of his life, says: " Ballad-making is
now as completely my hobby as ever fortification was Uncle Toby's ; so I'll e'en canter
away till I come to the limit of my race (God grant that I may take the right side of the
winning-post), and then, cheerfully looking back on the honest folks with whom I have been
happy, I shall say or sing ' Sae merry as we a' ha'e been," and raising my last looks to the
whole of the human race, the last words of the voice of Colia shall be ' Good night, and
joy be wi' ye a'."'
This is the closing stanza of Lady Nairne's version of the song:
My harp, fareweel I thy strains are past,
Of gleefu' mirth, and heartfelt wae ;
The voice of song maun cease at last,
And minstrelsy itsel' decay.
But, oh ! where sorrow canna win,
Nor parting tears are shed ava',
May we meet neighbor, kith and kin,
And joy for aye be wi' us a' !
INDEX,
Names of authors and composers, in SMALL CAPITALS ; titles of the songs, in ttaiict.
Adafr, Sir Robert, sketch of, 356.
ADAM, JEAN, sketch of and song by, 394.
Adams and Liberty, 589.
Aefond kiss, 317.
A frog he would a wooing go, 434.
After the Battle, 565.
Afton Water, 322.
Aileen Aroon, air of, 227.
AINSLIE, HEW, skt- tch of and song by, 44.
Allan Water, 300.
ALLEN, ELIZABETH AKERS, sketch of and song by,
71.
ALLINGHAM, WILLIAM, sketch of and song by, 423.
All quiet along the Potomac, 563.
Airs Well! 637
" Alton Locke," quotation from, 187.
A man's a man, for a' that, 603.
Anacreon in Heaven, air of, 589.
And ye shall walk in silk attire, 351.
Angel's Whisper, Ihe. 392.
Annie Laurie, 364.
Appleton, Mrs. W. Stuart, her connection with
" The Star-Spangled Banner," 593.
Araby's Daughter, 307.
Are there Tidings ? 184.
Arethusa, The, 167.
Argyle, John, Duke of, 513.
ARK WRIGHT, Mrs., songs by, 191, 340, 533, 628, 644.
(See also BROWNE, Miss.)
Armistead, George, his connection with the " Star-
Spangled Banner," 592.
ARNE, Dr. THOMAS, sketch of, 576 ; songs by, 426,
576.
Arrow and the Song, The, 609.
ARNOLD. SAMUEL, sketch of and song by, 589.
ARNOLD, S. J., sketch of and song by, 553.
As d>>wn in, the sunless retreats, 639
As I was gwine down Shin-bone Alley, air of, 274.
ATTWOOD, THOMAS, song by, 527.
Auld Lang Syne, 7.
Auld Robin Qray, 291 ; sequel to, 295.
BAILLIE, JOANNA, sketch of and song by, 60.
BALFE, MICHAEL WILLIAM, sketch of, 609 ; songs
by, 35, 609.
Ball, Hon. Mr., claims " Rock me to Sleep," 71.
BALLANTTNE, JAMES, sketch of and song by, 47.
Barbara Allan, 327.
BAHKER, GEORGE A., sketch of and song by, 115.
BARKER, NATHAN, arranges " Graves of a House.
hold," 74.
BARKER, THEODORE T., song by, 423.
BARNARD, Lady Anne, sketch of and song by, 291.
BARNETT, JOHN, sketch of and song by, 560.
Barney Buntline, 114.
Barrington, Sir Jonah, quoted, 238.
Battle of the Baltic, 574.
Battle Prayer, The, 535.
BAYLY, THOMAS HAYNES, sketch of, 3 ; anecdote ot,
221 ; songs by, 3, 88, 95, 98, 190, 221, 276, 28\,
299, 354, 504, 521.
Bay of Biscay, The, 175.
Bay of Dublin, 79.
Beaufort, Miss, quoted, 244
BEERS, ETHEL LYNN, sketch of and song by, 563.
Beggqr Girl, The, 614.
Begone ! Dull Care, 454.
Bells of St. Petersburg, the air of, 223.
Ben Bolt, 9.
BENJAMIN, PARK, sketch of and song by, 632.
Bennet, Emerson, his connection with " Rain on the
Roof," 56.
BENNET, HENRY, song by, 441.
Best Scotch song, Burns's opinion as to the, 493.
Better Land, The, 628.
Bingen on the Rhine, 537.
BirksofAberfeldy, The, 384.
Birks of Abergeldy, The, old song of, 384.
Bishop, Madame Anna, 184.
BISHOP, Sir HENRY ROWLEY, sketch of, 184 ; eongit
by, 98. 184, 354, 444, 499, 505.
Black, John, quoted, 543, 604.
Black-eyed Susan, 125.
BLAMIUE, SUSANNA, sketch of, 304 ; songs by, 304.
320, 351.
BLEWITT, JONATHAN, sketch of and song by, 447.
BLOCKLEY, JOHN, sketch of, 13 ; songs by, 13, 236.
Blue bells of Scotland, The, 501.
Blue bonnets over the border, 518.
Blue eyed Mary, 275.
Blue Juniata, Ihe. 279.
Boatie rows, The, 59.
Hob and Joan, air of, 457.
Bonnie Doon, 343.
654
INDEX.
Bonnie Dundee, 497 ; air of, 324.
BOOTT, FRANCIS, song by, 187.
BOSWELL, Sir ALEXANDER, sketch of and song by,
649
BOUCICAULT, DION, sketch of, 89 ; Bongs by, 89,
488.
Bounding billoics, cease your motion, 345.
Bowld Sojer Boy, The, 446..
Bradford, Samuel, 312.
Braes o' Balquhidder, The, 387.
Braes o' Gleniffer, The, 324.
BRAHAM, JOHN, sketch of, 553 ; anecdote of, 637 ;
songs by, 553, 637.
Brave old oak, The, 209.
Break, break, break, 37.
Bridal of AndaUa, The, 340.
Brighton Camp, song of, 503.
Bring flowers, 206.
Brook, The, 199.
Brookside, The, 363.
Brose and Butter, air of, 417.
BROWN, FRANCIS H. , sketch of and song by, 151.
BROWNE, Miss, song by, 103. (See also ARKWRIGHT.)
BROWN ELL, HENRY HOWARD, song by, 478.
BUOWNING, ISABELLA, her opinion of W. R. Demp-
ster, 37 ; assists him, 620.
BRUCE, JOHN, song by, 420.
BRUCE, SILAS, song by, 613.
BUCKLEY, R. BISHOP, sketch of and song by, 429.
BULWER, EDWARD, Lord LYTTON, sketch of and
song by, 258.
BUNN, ALFRED, sketch of and song by, 84
Bunting, his " Ancient Music of Ireland" quoted,
83.
Burial of Sir John Moore, 2he, 560.
BURNS, ROBERT, sketch of, 7; songs by, 8, 268, 317,
321, 322, 343, 359, 368, 384, 386, 390, 406, 413,
420, 516, 519, 603.
Bush aboon Traquair, The, 326.
Buy a Broom, 444.
BYRON, Lord, sketch of and song by, 269 ; his opin-
ion of Lewis, 300.
Caledonian Hunt's Delight, The, air of, 343.
CALLCOTT, JOHN WALL, sketch of and song by,
573.
Caller Herrin', 606.
Campbell, Mary, monument to, 359.
CAMPBELL, MARY MAXWELL, sketch of and song
by, 510.
CAMPBELL, THOMAS, sketch of, 331 ; anecdote of,
573 ; songs by, 91, 331, 527, 543, 573, 574.
Campbells are Comin', The, 513.
Canadian Boat Song, 204.
Captain Kidd, 171.
Captive Knight, Tlie, 533.
CAREY HENRY, sketch of and song by, 369. (See
alto God Save the King.)
CAROLAN, TURLOUGH, sketch of, 313; song by, 167.
CARPENTER, JOSEPH EDWARDS, sketch of and song
by, 146.
Carrier Bird, The, 613.
Carrier Dove, The, 100.
Carrier Pigeon, The, 278.
CARTER, THOMAS, sketch of and song by, 272-
Castles in the Air, 47.
Catalani, Madame, anecdote of, 638.
Charlie is my Darling, 486.
Cheer, Boys, Cheer! 105.
CHENIE, JOHN, song by, 381.
CHERRY ANDREW, sketch of and song by, 175.
Choiseul, Duke de, 194.
CHORLEY, HENRY F., sketch of, 209 ; quoted, 109 ;
his opinion of Horn, 301 ; song by, 209.
Christy, E. P., puts his name on Foster's song, 69.
CLARK, JAMES G., sketch of, 297 ; songs by, 56,
297.
Clark, Richard, his discussion of " God Save the
King," 578.
COCKBURN, ALISON RUTHERFORD, sketch of and
song by, 601.
COLMAN, GEORGE, the younger, sketch of and
song by, 330.
Come, Haste to the Wedding, 426.
Come, landlord, fill the flowing bowl, 455.
Come, play me that simple air, 237.
Comin' through the Rye, 403.
Conallon, Thomas, his connection with, " Lochaber
no More," 83.
Connel and Flora, 311.
COOK, ELIZA, sketch of and song by, 20 ; her poem
on Hood, 12.
COOKE, THOMAS, sketch of and song by, 252.
Copyright Trial, A, 435.
Cork Leg, The, 447.
Country Lass, The, air of, 370.
County Guy, 266 ; air of, 460.
COVERT, BERNARD, sketch of, 159 ; songs by, 159,
552.
CRAWFORD, Mrs., song by, 333.
CRAWFORD, ROBERT, sketch of, 253 ; songs by,
253, 326.
CROUCH, F. W. NICHOLLS, sketch of and song by,
333.
Cruiskin Lawn, air of, 399.
Cumming, the Misses, their concerts, 488.
CUNNINGHAM, ALLAN, sketch of and song by, 137.
Curran, Sarah, Irving's story of, 357.
CUSSANS, JACK, song by, 444
DANBY, GERTRUDE, song by, 318.
Dandy, oh ! The, air of, 250.
Dashing Wliite Sergeant, The, 505.
DAVIS, THOMAS OSBORNE, sketch of and song by,
366.
DAVY, JOHN, sketch of, 175 ; songs by, 114, 175.
INDEX.
655
Days of Absence, 226.
DAYTON, J., song by, 563.
Death of Nelson, The, 553.
Death of Warren, The, 544.
DEMPSTER, WILLIAM R., sketch of, 620 ; songs by
37, 85, 240, 314, 544, 620.
DIBDIN, CHARLES, sketch of, 157 ; epitaph, 160 ;
anecdote of, 178 ; songs by, 157, 160, 162, 163, 178*
465.
DIBDIN, THOMAS, sketch of, 571 ; songs by 571
637.
DICKENS, CHARLES, sketch of and song by, 210.
DINSMOOR, ROBERT, claims "The Braes o' Glenif-
fer," 324.
Dixie, 580.
DONIZETTI, his connection with "Home, sweet
home," 42.
Do they miss me at home ? 68.
DOUGLAS, Mr., song by, 365.
Down the burn, 253.
Drink to me only with thine eyes, 460.
DUPFERIN, Lady, sketch of, 85 ; songs by, 79, 85.
Duffet, Thomas, his book of songs, 82.
Duganne, Augustine J. H., poem by, claimed by
Crouch, 333.
* Duncan Gray, 413.
DUNLOP, JOHN, sketch of and song by, 469.
Dunois the brave, 509.
Durany. Ferdinand, his connection with "The
Star-Spangied Banner," 592.
D'URFEY, THOMAS, song by, 410.
Eileen Aroon, 241.
ELLIOT, JEAN, sketch of and song by, 569.
ENGLISH, THOMAS DUNN, sketch of and song by, 9.
Erin is my home, 88.
Erin, the tear, 227.
Erskine, A , quoted, 413.
Esling, Mrs., 305.
Evening Song to the Virgin, 619.
EWEN, JOHN, sketch of and song by, 59.
Exile of Erin, The, 91.
Farewell! but whenever you welcome the hour, 461.
Farragut, Mrs. , 352.
FERKIER, Miss, stanzas by, 417.
Fields, James T., his anecdote of Tennyson, 37.
Pitt the bumper fair, 457.
FINCH, FRANCIS M., sketch of and song by, 453.
Fine old English gentleman, The, 435.
FITZGERALD, Lady EDWARD, song by, 14.
Fitz- Herbert, Mrs., her connection with " The Lass
of Richmond Hill," 246.
Flower of Strathearn, The, 484.
Flowers of the Forest (Mrs. Cockburn's), 601.
Flowers of (he Forest (Miss Elliot's), 569.
Fly not yet, 260.
FONTANE, LAMAR, his claim to " All quiet along
the Potomac," 563.
For the sake o' somebody, 268.
FOSTER, STEPHEN COLLINS, sketch of, 4 ; songs by.
5, 64, 69, 286, 287.
Four -leaved Shamrock, The, 244.
Francis, Dr., his remembrance of John Howard
Payne, 41.
Franklin, Benjamin, anecdote of, 650.
Gaily the troubadour, 521.
Gallant troubadour, The, 508.
GAY, JOHN, sketch of, 125 ; songs by, 125, 128 j
criticisms on, 129.
General Leslie's March, the old song of, 518.
GILMAN, CAROLINE, sketch of and song by, 151.
Ginevra, the story of, 299.
Giil I left behind me, The, 503.
GLOVEB, CHARLES W., sketch of and song by, 838.
GLOVER, STEPHEN, sketch of and song by, 146.
God Save the King, 578.
Go, forget me ! 243.
Goldsmith, Oliver, quoted, 328, 650.
Good-night, and joy be wi' ye a' ! 649.
Good-morrow, fair mistress 1 air of, 312.
GORRIN, CIPRIANO, sketch of and song by, 624.
Gow, Nathaniel, his connection with " Caller Her-
rin'," 606.
Gow, NEIL, songs by, 421, 606.
Grammachree, the air of, 228, 249, 568.
GRANNIS, S. M., song by, 68.
GRANT, Mrs., sketch of and song by, 421.
GRANT, Mrs., of Laggan, sketch of and song by,
501.
Grave of Bonaparte, The, 558.
Graves of a household, The, 74.
Greeley, Horace, quoted, 328.
Green grow the rashes, 0, 406.
Greenville, air of, 226.
Greiner, John, song erroneously attributed to, 475.
Grey, Capt. Charles, 486.
GRIFFIN, GERALD, sketch of and song by, 241.
Groves of Blarney, The, 431.
Guernsey, Alfred H., quoted, 564.
GUERNSEY, WELLINGTON, pong by, 284.
Had I a heart for falsehood framed, 249.
Hail, Columbia! 586.
Hail to tlw chief! 499.
HALL, CHARLES, song by, 476.
HAMILTON, ELIZABETH, sketch of and song by, 46.
HANDEL, GEORG FRIEDRICH, song by, 129.
Harris, Chandler, quoted, 563.
Hatton, Joseph L., his reminiscences of Mark
Lemon, 16.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, his description of Ailing-
ham, 423.
HAY, DOMINICK M. H., writes an air for " Ben
Bolt," 9.
HEATH, LYMAN, sketch of and song by, 558.
Heaving of the Lead, The, 173.
C56
INDEX.
HEBER, REGINALD, sketch of, 99 ; songs by, 99,
512.
HEFFERNAN, I., song by, 638.
HEMANS, FELICIA, sketch of, 215; songs by, 74,
103, 191, 206, 215, 533, 619, 628, 644.
Herd, David, his collection of melodies, 380.
Here awa', there awa', air of, 368.
Here's a health to ane Ilo'e dear, 321.
HEWER, W., song probably by, 435.
HEWIT, RICHARD, sketch of and song by, 264.
HEWITT, D. C., sketch of and song by, 543.
Hey, tuttie taittie, air of, 516.
Highland Mary, 359.
Highland Watch's Farewell, The, air of, 268.
HIMMEL, FRIEDRICH HEINRICH, sketch of and
song by, 535.
HIKE, JAMES, song by, 363.
HOARE, PRINCE, sketch of and song by, 167.
HOFFMAN, CHARLES FENNO, sketch of and song
by, 451.
Holmes, Oliver Wendell, quoted, 103, 568, 593, 595,
604.
HOGG, JAMES, sketch of and song by, 255.
Home, sweet home, 41.
HOOD, THOMAS, sketch of and song by, 12.
HOOK, JAMES, sketch of, 410 ; songs by, 246, 410.
Hook, Theodore, writes Kelly's " Reminiscences,"
52.
HOPKINSON, JOSEPH, sketch of and song by, 586.
HORN, CHARLES EDWARD, sketch of, 301 ; songs
by, 274, 301.
HORSLEY, WILLIAM, sketch of and song attributed
to, 642.
HORTENSE, QUEEN, sketch of and song by, 509.
Hosmer, William H. C., his lines on Payne, 42.
House of Glanis, The, air of, 265.
HOWITT, MARY, sketch of and song by, 599.
How stands the glass around? 456.
HUGHES, Mrs., 215. (See ARKWRIGHT.)
Huish the cat from under the table, air of, 259.
HULLAH, JOHN, sketch of and song by, 181.
HUNTER, MRS. JOHN, sketch of and song by, 285.
HUTCHINSON, J. J., song by, 630.
Hutchinson, Joshua, 524, 525.
HUTCHINSON, JUDSON, sketch of and song by, 537.
I am the Duke of Norfolk, air of, 399.
fd be a butterfly, 221.
Tdbea parody, 223.
1 feed a lad at Michaelmas, air of, 8.
If thou wert by my side, 99.
TU hang my harp on a willow- tree, 284.
I'm saddest when I sing, 98,
Incledon, anecdotes of, 121, 176.
Indian's death-song, The, 285.
1 ne'er lo'ed a laddie but ane, 381.
IngU Side, The, 44.
In January last, air of, 371.
Inquiry, The, 624.
/ remember, 14.
1 remember, I remember, 12.
Irish tune, The, 82.
Irving, Washington, quoted, 310, 357.
I see them on their winding vay, 512.
Isle of beauty, fare thee well, 95.
Ivy Green, The, 210.
Jamie's on tJie stormy sea, 159.
Janson, Miss, the lass of Richmond Hill, 246.
Jeanie Morrison, 314.
Jeannette and Jeannol, 338.
JEFFERYS, CHARLES, sketch of, 338 ; songs by,
29, 338, 389.
Jessie, the Flower o' Dumblane, 372.
Jock o' Hazeldean, 371.
Jock o' Hazelgreen, old song of, 371.
John Anderson, my jo, 399.
John Brown's Body, 476.
Johnny Armstrong's good night, air of, 650.
Johnny Schmoker, probable origin of, 439.
John O'Reilly the active, air of, 467.
JOHNS, Capt., song by, 115.
JOHNSON, DANIEL, sketch of and song by, 100.
Jolly Fellow, The, air of, 455.
Jolly Young Waterman, TJie, 157.
Jones, Penrose, his connection with " Rain on the
Roof," 56.
JONSON, BEN, songs by, 460, 578.
JORDAN, Mrs., song by, 501.
Kate Kearney, 418.
Kathleen Mavourneen, 333.
Kean, Edmund, 175.
KELLY, MICHAEL, sketch of and song by, 52.
Kennedy, Miss, heroine of Bonnie Doon, 344.
KEPPEL, CAROLINE, sketch of and song by, 355.
KEY, FRANCIS SCOTT, sketch of and song by, 592.
KIALLMARK, E., sketch of and song by, 307,
Kidd, William, sketch of, 171.
Kind Robin lo'es me, 380.
King Charles, 122.
King James's march into Ireland, the air of, 82.
KING, M. P., sketch of and song by, 122.
King, W. A., 122.
KINGSLEY, CHARLES, sketch of, 181 ; songs by 181,
187.
KlNNEY, COATES, sketch of and song by, 56.
KITTREDGE, WALTER, sketch of and song by, 524.
Kitty Neil, 259.
KNEASS, NELSON, sketch of and song by, 9.
KNIGHT, JOSEPH PHILIP, sketch of, 194; songs by,
194, 281.
Knipp, Mrs., her singing, 328.
K6RNER, KARL THEODORE, sketch of and song by,
535.
Laird o' Cockpen, The, 417.
INDEX.
Lament of the Captive. (See My life is like tJie
summer rose.)
Lament of the Irish Emigrant, 85.
LANDER, JOHN, stanza by, 432.
Land o' the Leal, The, 648.
Lass o' Gowrie, The, 248.
Lass of Richmond Hill, The, 246.
Lass o' Patie's Mil, The, 385.
Lass that loves a sailor, The, 160.
Last Hose of Summer, TJie, 219.
Lea Rig, The, 386.
LEE, ALEXANDER, sketch of and song by, 504.
LEEVES, WILLIAM, song by, 292.
LEMON, MARK, sketch of and song by, 16; anec-
dote of, 154.
Lennie, Wm., his reminiscences of Motherwell, 314.
Let Erin Remember, 224.
LEVERIDGE, RICHARD, sketch of, 442 ; songs by 125,
442.
Le wars, Jessie, 321.
Lewie Gordon, air of, 517.
LEWIS, MATTHEW GREGORY, sketch of and song
by, 300.
Lieber Avfgustine, air of, 444.
Life on the Ocean Wave, A, 130.
Light of otlier days, The, 34.
LINDSAY, Miss, song by, 615.
Linley, Miss, marries Sheridan, 249.
Little Pigs, air of, 474.
Lochaber no more, 82.
Loch Erroch Side, air of, 248.
Lochiel, 510.
LOCKHAIIT, JOHN GIBSON, sketch of and song by,
340.
LODER, EDWARD J., sketch of, 276 ; songs by, 209,
276.
Long Ago, The, 3.
LONGFELLOW, HENRY W., sketch of, 620 ; songs
by, 230, 609, 620.
Lord Uttin's Daughter, 331.
Lovely Mary Donnelly, 423.
Love not, 236.
LOVER, SAMUEL, sketch of, 446 ; songs by, 244, ?80,
313, 392, 404, 407, 412, 415, 446.
Love's Ritornella, 251.
Love's Young Dream, 238.
Low-backed car, The, 404.
LOWE, JOHN, sketch of and song by, 309.
Macbeth, the music for, 443.
McCann, Anthony, inspires Campbell's song, 91.
MACKAY, CHARLES, sketch of, 202 ; his " Forty
Years' Recollect ions" quoted, 486 ; songs by, 105,
202, 604, 624.
McNALLY, LEONARD, sketch of and song by, 246.
MACNEILL, HECTOR, sketch of, 376 ; songs by, 376,
381.
Macri, Theresa, 269.
MAHONY, FRANCIS, stanza by, 432.
Maid of Athens, 269.
MAIGH, DAVID, song by, 253.
MALLET, DAVID, sketch of and song by, 576.
March of the Cameron Men, The, 510.
Marion Moore, 297.
Mary, do you fancy me ? air of, 392.
Maryland, My Maryland, 478.
Mary of Ar gyle, 382.
Mary of the Wild Moor, 303.
Mary's Dream, 309.
Massa's in the cold, cold ground, 287.
Mazzara, Count, patronizes Balfe, 609.
MAZZINGHI, Count JOSEPH, sketch of and song by,
541.
Medwin, Thomas, quoted, 560.
Meeting, The, 463.
Meeting of the Waters, Tfie, 267.
Meet me by Moonlight, 374.
Messenger Bird, The, 644.
MICKLE, WILLIAM JULIUS, song claimed for, 394.
Mill, Mill 0, The, air of, 519.
Miller, James, his connection with " Bonnie Doon,"
343.
MILLIKIN, RICHARD ALFRED, sketch of and song
by, 431.
MILNES, RICHARD MONCKTON, sketch of and song-
by, 363.
Minstrel Boy, The, 523.
Minstrel's lit turn, The, 522.
Minute Gun at Sea, The, 122.
Mistletoe Bough, The, 299.
Mitford, Mary Russell, her search for Bonnie Dun-
dee, 497.
Moir, David M., his opinion of Mrs. Norton's
poetry, 31 ; quoted, 326.
Moll Roe in the morning, air of, 459.
Moll Roone, air of, 461.
Mutty Carew, 407.
MOORE, THOMAS, sketch of, 32 ; anecdotes of, 238.
467 ; opinion of Sheridan's song, 249 ; opinion
of Morris, 465 ; songs by, 32, 52, 204, 21!), O'JU.
224, 227, 237, 238. 250, 260, 267, 307, 357, 457,
459, 461, 463, 467, 515, 523, 565, 567, 568, 613V
629.
MORAN, P. K., song by, 278.
Moreen, The, air of, 523.
MORGAN, LADY, sketch of and song by, 418.
MORUIS, CHARLES, sketch of and song by, 464.
MORRIS, GEORGE P., sketch of, 2"> ; Willis's char-
acterization of, 622 ; songs by. 25, 274, 305, 622.
MOSCHELES, IGNATZ, sketch of and song by, 88.
MOTHERWELL, WILLIAM, sketch of and song by_
314.
MOZART, WOLFGANG, sketch of, 248 , songs by»
243, 266, 460.
MUELLER, J. MAX, sketch of and song by, 7','.
My din fireside, 46.
658 INDEX.
My Country, 'tis of thee, 595.
My dearie, an' thou dee, air of, 304.
My heart's in the Highlands, 97.
My life is like the summer roue, 233.
My lodging is on the cold ground, air of, 381.
My Mother's Bible, 622.
My Old Kentucky Home, 64
My wife's a winsome wee thing, 390.
Nae luck aboot the house, 394.
NAIKNE, LADY, sketch of, 484 ; songs by, 248, 417,
484, 486, 606, 648.
Napoleon I., his opinion of English music, 343.
NATHAN, ISAAC, sketch of and song by, 269.
Near the lake, 274.
NELSON, SIDNEY, sketch of, 190 ; songs by, 99,
190, 379, 382, 389.
NEUKOMM, SIGISMOND, sketch of, 109 ; songs by,
109, 139.
New Highland Lad, The, song of, 501.
NICOLO, song by, 29.
Nid, niil, noddin', song of, 393.
Noble Sir Arthur, air of, 420.
NOEL, THOMAS, sketch of and song by, 630.
NORTON, CAROLINE, sketch of, 30 ; songs by, 31,
102, 236, 537.
Oak and the ash, The, 80.
O boys, carry me 'long, 286.
O'Carrol, his singing, 330.
O'Connor, William D., defends Mrs. Allen's title
to " Rock me to sleep," 71.
Oft in the stilly night, 32.
Oh, no, we never mention her, 354.
Oh, take her, but be faithful still, 389.
Oh, think not my spirits, 467.
Old and young courtier, The, ballad of, 435.
Old arm-chair, The, 20.
Old Dog Tray, 4.
Old Dutch Clock. The, 141.
Old Folks at Home, 69.
Old Head of Dennis, The, air of, 267.
Old King Cole, 439.
Old Oaken Bucket, The, 18.
Old Sexton, The, 632.
Old Woman, Tlie. the air of, 233.
O Nannie, wilt thou gang id' me? 272.
One bumper at parting, 459.
O'Neil, A., Irish harper, 503.
O, say not tha'. my heart is cold, 228.
Osgood, Frances S., her description of Eliza Cook,
20.
Oswald, James, his collection of tunes, 265.
0, swiftly glides the bonnie boat, 60.
O Tannenbaum, air of, 478.
0 whisle, and I'll come to you, my lad, 420.
Paddy Whack, air of, 567.
PAINE, ROBERT TIIEAT, Jr., sketch of and song bj
589.
Parke, his " Musical Memoirs" quoted, 42.
Partant pour la Syrie, 509.
Pat Malloy, 89.
Pauper's Drive, The, 630.
PAYNE, JOHN HOWARD, sketch of and song by ,41
PEARCE, JAMES, sketch of and song by, 173.
PEASE, ALFRED H., sketch of and song by, 230.
Pepys, Samuel, quoted, 328, 435.
PEKCIVAL, JAMES GATES, sketch of and song by
278.
PERCY, JOHN, sketch of and song by, 154.
PERCY, THOMAS, sketch of and song by, 272.
"Perdita," Mrs. Robinson, sketch of, 345.
PESTEL, PAUL, sketch of and song by, 491.
Phillips, Henry, his story of " The Light of Other.
Days," 34; his " Recollections" quoted, 110, 354,
435 ; anecdotes of, 139, 176.
PHYLA, Prof., song by, 587.
PIERCY, song by, 614.
PIKE, ALBERT, sketch of and song by, 580.
Pilgrim Fathers, The, 103.
Pilot, Tlie, 190.
PITT, WILLIAM, sketch of and song by, 114.
PLANCHE, JAMES R. , sketch of and song by, 251.
Planxty Kelly, air of, 260.
Planxty Reilly, air of, 407.
Poor Jack, 178.
Poor Tom, 162.
PORTER, Mrs. DAVID, song by, 8.TJ.
Portmore, air of, 97.
POWELL, JAMES, stanza by, 154.
PRAED, WINTHROP MACKWORTH, sketch of and
song by, 14.
President's March, air of, 586.
PROCTER, BRYAN WALLER, sketch of, 109 ; songa
by, 109, 139, 398.
PURDAY, C. H., song by, 574.
Queen'8 Jig, The, air of, 454.
Quodling's Delight, The, air of, 80.
Rain on the Roof, 56.
Rainy Day, The, 620.
RAMSAY, ALLAN, sketch of, 82 ; songs by, 83, 385.
RANDALL, JAMES RYDER, sketch of and song by,
478.
RAWLINGS, THOMAS A., sketch of and song by, 95.
Reasons for Drinking, 464.
REEVE, WILLIAM, sketch of and song by, 571.
REID, WILLIAM, song by, 248; stanza by, 399.
REILLY, MYLES, song by, 83.
Roa*tbeefof Old England, The, 442.
Robin Adair, 355 ; what Burns and Ix>ver say of
it, 241.
ROBINSON, MARY, sketch of and song by, 345.
Robinson Crusoe, 444.
INDEX.
Rockaway, 141.
Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep, 194.
Rock me to sleep, 71.
Rogue's March, air of, 571.
Roll on, Silver Moon, 347.
ROMER, FRANK, sketch of and song by, 17.
Itory O'More, 415.
Rose of Allandale, The, 379.
Roilin Castle, 264.
Ross, A. C., sketch of and song by, 473.
ROUSSEAU, JEAN JACQUES, sketch of and song by,
226.
Roy's wife'of Aldivalloch, 421.
Ruffian's Rant, The, air of, 421.
Rule, Britannia! 576.
Russell, Benjamin, his connection with " Adams
and Liberty," 589.
RUSSELL, HENRY, sketch of, 21 ; Phillips's opinion
of, 202 ; songs by, 21, 26, 31, 105, 130, 141, 202,
210, 623, 632.
Saint Patrick was a gentleman, 441.
Salis, Johann Gaudeiiz von, stanza quoted from,
388.
Sally in our Alley, 369.
Sands o' Dee, The, 187.
SAKGENT, EPES, sketch of, 130; songs by, 130,
240, 544.
SATTER, GUBTAVE, sketch of and song by, 318.
Savourneen Deelish, 330 ; air of, 91.
Saw ye my wee thing f 376.
Scots, W?M hoe wi' Wallace bled, 516.
SCOTT, Lady JOHN, sketch of and song by, 365.
SCOTT, Sir WALTER, his opinion of Lewis, 301 ;
quoted. 138 ; songs by, 266, 371, 497, 499, 508,
518, 522, 541.
Sea, The, 109.
Shame fa' the gear and the blathrie o't, air of, 256.
Shamrock, the, emblem of, 244.
Sharpe, Charles Kirkpatrick, quoted, 364.
SHARPE, HENRY JOHN, sketch of and song by, 141.
SHARPE, R. S. sketch of and song by, 122.
SHAW, OLIVER, sketch of, 639 ; songs by, 629, 639.
She is far from the land, 357.
SHERIDAN, RICHARD BRINSLEY, sketch of and
song by, 249.
Sherwood, Judge, his account of A. C. Ross and
his song, 473.
She wore a wreath of roses, 281.
SHIELD, WILLIAM, sketch of, 173 ; songs by, 167,
173.
Shuckburg, Richard, his connection with " Yan-
kee, Doodle," 583.
Siller Crown, The, air of, 351.
Since Ccelia's my foe, air of, 82.
SKINNER, JOHN, sketch of and song by, 492.
Skirving, Mr., his Tranent Muir, 510.
Slender Coat, The, air of, 262.
Slingsby, Jonathan Freke, 259.
Smiling Polly, air of, 428.
Smith, Asa D., quoted, 642.
Smith, Frederick, arranges melody of " Old Oaken
Bucket," 19.
SMITH, ROBERT ARCHIBALD, sketch of, 872 • songs
by, 372, 387.
SMITH, SAMUEL FRANCIS, sketch of and song by
595.
Smoking Away, 453.
Soldier's Dream, The, 527.
Soldier's Return, The, 519.
Soldier's Tear, The, 504.
Some love to roam, 202.
Southerly wind and a cloudy sky, A, 208.
Sparkling and bright, 451.
SPENCER, WILLIAM ROBERT, sketch of, 262 ; songs
by, 50, 262.
Spider and the fly, The, 599.
SPILMAN, J. E., song by, 323.
Stars of the summer niylit, 230.
S.ar-spangkd Banner, The, 592.
STEVENS, GEORGE ALEXANDER, sketch of and song
by, 120.
STEVENSON, Sir JOHN ANDREW, oketch of and song
by, 227.
Stewart, Mrs. Dugald, 322.
STOCKHAUSEN, F., sketch of and song by, 277.
Storm, The, 120.
Stormy Petrel, The, 139.
Strong walls of Derry, The, 97.
SULLIVAN, Mrs. M. D., song by, 279.
Sword of Bunker Hill, The, 552.
Symonds, H. J., quoted, 560.
Take me back to Switzerland, 102,
Tak" yer auld cloak about ye, 66.
TANNAHILL, ROBERT, sketch of, 387 ; songs by,
324, 372, 387.
Taylor, Bayard, quotation from poem by, 364.
TAYLOR, JAMES B., song by, 451.
TENNYSON, ALFRED, sketch of, 37 ; songs by, 87,
199, 615.
Tenting on the old camp ground, 524.
The harp that once, 568.
The heath this night, 541.
There's a good time coming, 604.
There's nae room for twa, 318.
There's nothing true but heaven, 629.
The Rose that all are praising, 276.
THIBAULT, CHARLES, song by, 235.
THOMAS, E.,song by, 296.
THOMAS, FREDERICK WILLIAM, sketch of and
song by, 296.
THOMSON, GEORGE, sketch of and song by, 881 ;
his musical work, 8.
Those evening betts, 223.
Ihou hast wounded the spirit that loved thee, 852.
CfiO
INDEX.
Three Fishers, 181.
Thy fair bosom, air of, 565.
Tight little Island, The, 571.
Tippecanoe and Tyler too, 473.
'Tis good to be off with the old love, air of, 469.
' Tis midnight hour, 263.
' Tis said that absence conquer* love, 296.
Titiens, Mile., anecdote of, 333.
T" Greece we give our shining blades, 515.
TOLEKEN, Mr., song by, 441.
Tom Bowling, 163.
Too late! 615.
Too l>te I stayed, 262.
Touch us gently, Time, 398.
Trancadillo, 151.
Tranent Muir, ballad of, 510.
Treasures of the deep, 191.
Tree. Miss, sings " Home, sweet home," 42.
True love can ne'er forget, 313.
Tuttochgor>im,492.
TURNER, JOSEPH W., sketch of, 303 ; songs by,
303, 347.
'Twos when the seas were roaring, 128.
1 'Twer '6 vain to tell thee all I feel, 277
Twilight Dews, 229.
Tyrolese Evening Hymn, 215.
Victoria, Queen, story about, 284.
WADE, J. AUGUSTUS, sketch of, 277 ; songs by, 277,
374.
Waefu' Heart, 2 he, 320.
Wait for the wagon, 429.
Wake Nicodemus, 480.
Wallack, James W., his singing, 252.
WALLACE, WILLIAM R., sketch of and song by, 552.
WALLER, JOHN F., sketch of and song by, 259.
Wandering Willie, 368.
Wapping Old Stairs, 153,
WASHBURN, HENRY S., sketch of and song by, 558.
Washington's March, air of, 587.
Watchman's Song, 638.
Waterman. Catherine R., 305.
Wearing of the Green, 488.
WEBBE, SAMUEL, sketch of and song attributed to,
642.
Wedderburn, song from his " Complaynt of Scot-
land," 434.
Weel may the keel row, 428.
We have been friends together, 30.
We have lived and loved together, 29.
Welcome, The, 366.
Welcome, brother debtor, air of, 121.
We met, 'twas in a crowd, 349.
We're a' noddin', 393.
Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sen, A, 137.
Wha'tt be King but Charlie? 484.
What ails this heart o' mine f 304.
What are the Wild Waves Saying .? 146.
What's a' the steer, kimmer ? 488.
What will you do, love ? 280.
When other friends are round thee, 305.'
When shatt we three meet again ? 042.
When she cam ben, she bobbit, air of, 417.
When stars are in the quiet skies, 258.
Wlten the kye comes hame, 255.
When the ?iiffht-wind bewaileth, 240.
While History's muse, 567.
WHITE, E., song by, 434.
White Squall, The, 1 15.
Why, soldiers, why f 456.
Widow Machree, 412.
WIESENTHAL, T. V., song by, 45.
Wife, children, and friends, 50.
WILDE, RICHARD HENRY, sketch of and song by
233.
WILLARD, EMMA, sketch of and song by, 194.
Will you come to the bower ? air of, 599.
WILSON, ALEXANDER, sketch of and song by, 311
Within a mile of Edinboro', 410.
WOLFE, CHARLES, sketch of, 560 ; his story of
Dermid, 219 ; songs by, 228, 243, 560.
Wolfe, Gen. James, anecdote of, 456.
Woodman, spare that tree ! 25.
Woodpecker, The, 52.
WOODWORTH, SAMUEL, sketch of and song by, 18
WORK, HENRY C., sketch of and song by, 480.
Would I were a boy again, 16.
Wounded Hussar, The, 543.
Wrangham, Archdeacon, his translations, 354.
Yankee Doodle, 583.
Tear that's awa', The, 469.
Ye mariners of England, 573.
Yes, the die is cast, 491.
Young May Moon, The, 250.
University of California
SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY
405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388
Return this material to the library
from which it was borrowed.
r^c 0 OMflU
QCT05J992
AUG 1 9 1992
.
Live Music
Archive
Librivox
Free Audio
Metropolitan Museum
Cleveland
Museum of Art
Internet
Arcade
Console Living Room
Open Library
American
Libraries
TV News
Understanding
9/11